


Like One of Your French Girls

by elsi_bee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Art Student Harry, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, minimal smut, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsi_bee/pseuds/elsi_bee
Summary: Harry thumbs through his sketchpad before he stops on a blank page. He looks Louis over for a moment, seemingly studying him. It’s a odd feeling, even if it is what Louis signed up for, just sitting in a crowd in broad daylight while a stranger looks him up and down.Louis is the subject of Harry’s first year art project, and what starts as an assignment blossoms into a friendship. It’s unfortunate that only one of them wishes it could be more.





	Like One of Your French Girls

**Author's Note:**

> It's been such a great experience participating in the first ever 1D Reverse Bang! The art featured in this story is from the amazing Tanya - [Curleduphl.](http://curleduphl.tumblr.com/) Thank you so so much for the inspiration and for your collaboration on this project! It was fun to share ideas with you. :)
> 
> A million billion thanks to the wonderful [Camilla](http://camiii.tumblr.com/) and [Fakedeepplantjerker](http://fakedeepplantjerker.tumblr.com/) for their thoughtful and thorough beta work. It's always such an honor to read both of your fics, and I'm so grateful you were willing to help with mine. So much gratitude extended [Grace's](https://neveragainsimon.tumblr.com/) way as well for being an amazingly helpful britpicker! 
> 
> I would also like to take this time to officially NOT thank my two cats A&R for walking across my keyboard, pawing me in the face, and sitting on my laptop virtually every time I attempted to work on this fic. It's a miracle I got it done. Thanks for nothing, creatures whom I love dearly. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://elsi-bee.tumblr.com/post/165244747155/coming-soon-to-the-1dreversebang-like-one-of?is_related_post=1)

**OCTOBER**

Louis is sat in a chair, iced coffee in hand, on time for the second week in a row. Actually, according to the clock on the wall of the lecture hall, he’s technically three minutes early. He’s absolutely _killing_ it.   

He takes a covert picture of the rows of seats and whiteboard with his phone before pulling up his mum’s number. _In lecture, being your studious son,_ he captions, adding the nerdy glasses emoji before sending the message on its way.

He can totally make it to lecture and revise and earn good marks and keep his mum from once again threatening to rip him a new arsehole at the end of the term.

“What’s this now?” Perrie says, dropping her rucksack to the floor. “You’re saving _my_ seat for once?”

“Second year Louis is the studious, punctual type,” Louis shrugs, powering up his Macbook as Perrie gets situated at his side. “Hope you can keep up.”

She snorts. “I’ll try my best.”

Louis’ first year attending uni and living in London had been an absolute blast. He’d made friends, learned the ins and out of the city, and attended some top notch parties. The trouble was, he just hadn’t quite made it to lectures as often as he should have. Maybe he hadn’t exactly managed to turn in all of the expected coursework, either. He’d squeaked by, managing to pass everything, but his mum had threatened to have him transferred back to good old Doncaster College if he didn’t shape up this term. She said he’d have to live on the couch since two of his sisters have already taken over his old bedroom. He’s not sure if she’d _actually_ expect him to spend a full term without a proper bed, but he’d prefer not to find out.

Besides, Doncaster College is not the place to get a start in theatre. He needs to be in London, learning from the best, visiting the prestigious playhouses, and rubbing elbows with the second tier actors who are willing to guest lecture in the drama department. He’d have no shot in the theatre world if he was stuck back at home.

Perrie pokes him, effectively jolting him from his thoughts. He tears his eyes from his laptop to look at her, but she’s pointedly staring forward. Right. Lecture is starting, and he’s definitely going to focus.

He catches the end of their professor’s opening statement. “Don’t forget,” she’s saying, “today’s the last day to sign up to help an art student with their exhibition project. We try to help out our friends in the art department when we’re able, as they often attend our plays and provide artwork to the props managers for set decoration.” She passes a paper to a student in the front row.

Their professor starts in on her lecture. Louis opens up a blank document so he can start taking notes. _Shakespeare,_ he manages to type. _Ibsen. Arthur Miller._ This note-taking business doesn’t seem like it will be all too helpful for revising later.

He’s relieved to have an excuse to take a break when the girl sitting in front of him turns, offering him the paper their professor had started around earlier. His hand moves automatically as he jots down his name and email address and passes it to Perrie.

Louis doesn’t remember a sign in sheet being passed around the week prior. He’s attending full lectures now, but the draw of free wifi can still divert his attention once his professors really settle into their droning on. Hopefully he’s not been marked as absent so far this term.

Perrie passes the sign in sheet to her right without so much as a second glance. He nudges her, concerned. How is _Perrie_ not paying attention? He may be in an alternate universe.

“You didn’t sign in!” he whispers.

She stares at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The sign in sheet!” he says. He reaches over her, flagging down the student on her other side until he passes it back.

“That’s not a sign in, Lou,” she says, pointing to the words crossing the top of the page. _Optional Art Volunteers,_ it reads.

Crap.

“I volunteered last year,” she continues. “Won’t have time this term. They bumped me up to twenty hours a week at work.”

Louis considers crossing out his name, but that would make him seem like an arse. He’s turning over a new leaf this year, and maybe part of taking uni seriously is agreeing to participate in optional activities he would normally ignore. He can do whatever being an art volunteer entails. Maybe it will even get him in the good graces of his professor.

Perrie’s laughing softly under her breath. “You really weren’t listening, were you?”

“Oi,” he whispers. Apparently not quietly enough, as a classmate whips her head around to glare at him.

Perrie sends the paper on its way, most students choosing to pass it along without adding their names. Louis’ just being altruistic, really, by leaving his name on there. He’s essentially helping those in need.

He does wonder what he’s just consented to participate in, though. It must have been explained in more detail at some point.

Someone sneezes in front of him and he realises he’s missed whatever his professor’s been saying. He brings his computer screen back to life and wills himself to pay attention.

They’re still talking about Arthur Miller, apparently. Seems he hasn’t missed too much. He lasts a solid minute before he pulls out his phone and starts typing into WhatsApp. _What do you think this art student will have me do? Nude modeling perhaps?_

Perrie gasps quietly, her response coming through a moment later. _I would hope not! Although you do have the bum for it…_

_You spend a lot of time looking at my bum, Miss Edwards?_

_Focus!!!_

Perrie turns her phone over on her desk and makes a show of staring at the board, jotting something down into her notebook.

Louis looks at the clock again. A solid five minutes have passed.

This is going to be a long term.

\--

His second week of his second year is officially over as Louis makes his way up the stairs to his flat Friday afternoon. He’s thinking a night out would be the proper way to celebrate. He knows Niall will be in, no problem. It’s his other flatmate who will take a bit more convincing.

Liam’s sitting on the couch with his laptop, studying the screen as Louis walks in.

“Hey,” Louis says, dropping his rucksack and kicking his shoes off at the door. “Liam. It’s Friday. Why does it look like you’re revising?”

“‘m not, just checking email. My professor made a change to the syllabus.”

“Oh. Email.”

Liam looks up at him. “Tell me you’ve been checking your email, Louis.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Louis’ mum had been thrilled when he’d announced that Liam was going to be one of his flatmates second year. One big reason is because he’s getting a steal housing-wise. The flat they’re newly moved into had belonged to Liam’s eccentric great aunt, who had left it to his parents when she passed. It’s a bit run-down and was completely void of furniture when they moved in, but it’s an entire flat they get all to themselves, no need to find random extra flatmates to help pay rent since Liam’s family own it outright. The amount they’ve asked Louis and Niall to pay each month for rent is almost nothing compared to the arm and leg they would have spent anywhere else.

Louis’ mom says the main reason she’s happy Louis and Liam are flatmates though is because she thinks Liam is a good influence to have around. She loves Niall too - _everyone_ loves Niall - but his mum’s somehow convinced that Liam’s perfectionist overachiever tendencies are going to rub off on him.

Louis’ not even sure how he and Liam managed to become mates. They’d lived together in halls of residence in their first year. They would likely have never even met otherwise since Liam’s studying physics, a far cry from Louis’ drama course. He’d met Liam when they’d moved in, but then Liam had hardly ever come out of his room the first several weeks of the fall term. Knowing him now, Louis thinks it was likely a combination of nerves and the desire to do well in university mixed with some serious homesickness. Liam’s parents had come to visit a month into the term and his mum had cornered Louis, asking him to help Liam become more accustomed to London. Louis’ not sure why he’d been the chosen one, seeing as he was new to London as well. He’s always been able to exude a false confidence in new surroundings, though.

Louis’ not sure if Liam knows about his mum’s intervention. He never plans to tell.

So Louis had recruited Niall, the most easy going lad in their entire hall, and together they had started to insist that Liam spend time with them. It hadn’t been easy, and at first Liam had said no more often than he’d said yes, but eventually they’d convinced him to come along to pub nights and footie games in between library visits and time on campus. Louis truly thinks Liam seemed like a happier, more well-adjusted version of himself at the end of their spring term, and he likes to think he had a hand in that.  

It seems that this year, apparently, the tables have been turned. Louis’ mum had pleaded with Liam to stay on top of Louis when she’d helped them move their stuff into their new flat at the beginning of term.

“Yes Liam, please, stay _on top of_ me,” Louis had echoed. Neither of them had laughed at his sharp wit. Fun suckers.

Liam had obviously taken Louis’ mum literally though. Well, maybe not _literally,_ but he’s definitely been making sure that Louis is going to lectures and sticking to the whole good student schtick.

Except Louis had forgotten he should probably be checking his school email. Leave it to Liam to guilt him into looking at it on a Friday afternoon.

He opens his Macbook and pulls up the university webpage before pausing, his fingers frozen over the keys.

“Uh. Liam?”

“Yeah.” Liam responds without looking up.

“How… do I access email again?”

Liam’s fingers pause on his keyboard. “Louis. Seriously?”

His lack of response probably says it all.

“Click on ‘students’, then ‘email’. Can’t help you with your password.”

“Think I’ve got it.” He types in _donnyrovers28,_ breathing a sigh of relief when he gets in straight away.

The front door opens, Niall walking through. He stops in his tracks as he looks at them, an unpleasant grimace overtaking his face. “Are you studying?” he asks. “On a Friday night? Why in the bloody hell have you got your computers out?”

“Just checking email, Ni,” Louis says. “Want to join in?”

“Nope.” Niall drops his things at the door and makes his way into his room.

Louis laughs. He’s not sure how Niall is doing in his course, actually. He’s studying business, which sounds like it should be labour intensive. He never sees Niall revising, but he also never sees him stress about completing things at the last minute. He’s either secretly brilliant or has the ability to charm his way out of bad marks, just like he charms those around him in every other aspect of his life. The luck of the Irish.

Louis focuses back on his email. There’s not too much in there, actually. It’s mostly university-wide emails about meal plans and school events. He recognises the names of one of his new professors on an email titled _Scheduling change,_ but he’ll get to that one later. Another subject line catches his eye.

 _Art project,_ it reads. The sender’s names is Harry Styles.

“Ooo,” Louis says. “Think I have a message from the person who’s going to paint me in the nude.”

“No one is painting you naked, Louis,” Liam says, eyes still not leaving his screen. “This is a reputable university.”

“We’ll see about that.” He opens the message.

_Hi. I’m Harry, from the art department. My professor gave me your email and said you signed up to participate in a first year’s project for the art exhibition? I was hoping we could meet up soon. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour or so to draw you. So, let me know your schedule and we can coordinate? Thanks!_

“He _is_ going to draw me naked!” Louis says. “I told you!”

That finally draws Liam’s attention away from his all-important email, and he skims the message on Louis’ screen. “Mate. The word ‘naked’ is literally never used in that entire message.”

Louis shrugs. “I’m just saying, nudity is art. So if I need to strip for the sake of art, I’m game.”

He can somehow feel Liam’s eyes rolling without even looking his way.

His stomach grumbles as he quickly types out a response, listing off his free afternoons before signing off with a smiley face. “Alright,” he says finally, slamming his laptop shut. “You ready for dinner, then? I’m feeling burgers.” He goes to collect Niall, smiling when he hears Liam set his laptop on the coffee table.

It’s going to be a good night.

\--

It’s a rare sunny October day, and apparently every single student on campus has decided to head outdoors. There are clusters of people scattered across the lawn, sunbathing and revising. It makes sense, Louis figures, that everyone’s taking advantage of the sun while they still can, before the months of dreary cold begin.  

The hordes of people are making it a bit challenging to find the first year art student he’s looking for, though.

He’d exchanged emails back and forth with Harry a couple of times before they’d settled on meeting Thursday afternoon at the fountain between the art and drama buildings. A well thought out plan at the time, but Louis’ not sure how he’s going to pick him out of the masses now.

It’s warm enough that he slips out of his jacket. He starts to throw it over his shoulder but pauses, holding it out in front of him instead as he snaps a picture of it from his phone.

 _Getting ready for my naked portrait,_ he texts to Perrie and Liam. He slips his phone back into his pocket before their replies have a chance to come through.

He adjusts his shirt against his collarbones. He’d searched his wardrobe for this specific one earlier, knowing he was going to be drawn today. Its scooped neck partially reveals the chest piece he had done over the summer, and he’s been told that wearing blue brings out his eyes. He thought that could be helpful to an artist. He’d spent a bit more time than usual before he’d left his flat taming his fringe, Niall complaining he’d been hogging the loo as much as he did before a proper night out. He’d told himself he wasn’t too worried about dressing his bottom half, but he’d definitely gone for his tightest pair of black denim trousers and his newest pair of white trainers.

Louis always prides himself on looking good. It’s just that he looks extra good today, since he’s about to be immortalised in portrait form.

He starts looking around in earnest now. Surely Harry’s not the idiot who is wading in the fountain water, or the girl who is cackling at him from the side. He walks around the fountain in a semi-circle before spotting a lad holding a sketchpad, his eyes also appearing to scan the crowd. Bingo.

“Harry?” Louis says as he approaches. He turns instantly, his smile soft and nervous as his eyes make contact with Louis’.

“Hi,” he replies. “Uh, Louis, I’m guessing? You must’ve gotten my email?”

“That’s me.” Louis extends his hand, waiting to shake Harry’s until he’s managed to shuffle his sketchpad under his free arm. “Not sure what email you’re talking about, though. Did you send one today?”

“Oh.” Harry rubs at his nose. “Uh, yeah. I realised I had no clue how I was going to know it was you. So I sent you an email, like, describing what I looked like? So you could find me.”

“Ah, makes sense,” Louis responds. “But I just saw the sketchpad and figured it was probably you.”

Harry looks down to his sketchpad before letting out a shaky laugh. “Oh, of course. Uh, you can just delete that email then.”

“Okay.”

They stand together for a moment, neither one of them speaking. Harry runs his thumb along the bottom of his sketchpad, the pages making a whirring sound as they flutter against his fingernail.

“So.” Louis says. He’d assumed Harry would take the lead, but maybe this is the first time he’s done something like this too. “Should we get started then?”

“Uh, yeah.” That seems to set Harry into motion, his head whipping around to study their surroundings. “The weather’s nice so I was thinking we could stay out here. Maybe we could sit?” He motions toward the edge of the fountain and quiets, as if waiting for Louis’ approval.

“Sure,” Louis agrees. “Lead the way.” Harry seems to assess the fountain for a moment, before beelining for a dry spot on the ledge. Louis follows.

Harry does have an artist kind of look about him, Louis supposes, studying him as he makes his way to the fountain. Not that all artists look a certain way, necessarily. People have told Louis before he looks more like a footballer than a theatre student, what with his footie vests and love of trackies. He should know more than most not to judge a book by its cover. It’s just that when he thinks _art student,_ the way Harry looks fits the bill.

He’s wearing a pair of battered brown boots, his toes turning slightly inward as he walks. He’s got black trousers on too, but his are faded and ripped. Louis wonders if Harry bought them that way or if they’ve deconstructed over time.

Harry’s got some type of necklace on, a thin silver chain tucked into his shirt. A beanie hides his hair, but a few brown curls are peeking out. Louis wonders if Harry’s hair is the type of curly that’s hard to keep under control. He smiles to himself thinking of Liam’s hair when they’d met in first year. He’d been hell-bent on wearing it curly, absolutely dousing it in some kind of gel after showering that left it crunchy to the touch. He’s glad Liam’s let that phase go.

“This spot okay?” Harry asks. Louis nods, setting his rucksack on the ground before sitting. Harry sits at his side and takes a moment to flip through his sketchpad, giving Louis a chance to peek at him up close.

He take a curious glance over Harry’s tattoos. His left arm is littered with a random spattering of black ones, a rose and a boat among others, in a similar style to the pieces Louis’ continuously adding to his right. Harry must have started in on tattoos before he even started at university. That hadn’t been the case for Louis. In an effort to avoid giving his mum a heart attack, he had waited until he moved to London to get his first. What started as just one has turned into several - it’s true what he’s heard, about tattoos being addictive. They’re mildly annoying to have to cover up at times in the theatre world, but they look cool traversing his arm in his day-to-day life. Plus, now that he knows his mum’s not going to kill him over them, it’s fun to watch her eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling every time he visits home with a new one.

Harry sets his sketchpad down suddenly, dashing toward a potted plant and hoisting it up against his hip. Louis hasn’t noticed many potted plants around campus before, not that he’s been truly looking. Maybe Harry’s in the midst of some type of artistic inspiration involving Louis and green leaves.

He carefully sets it on the ground at Louis’ side. “I almost forgot,” he says, “this is for you.”

Louis’ speechless for a moment. The plant in question is a couple of feet tall, nestled snugly in a decent sized clay pot. The way Harry had carried it over made it look reasonably heavy.

“You got me a plant?”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I was buying some flowers to have in my room. My mum has a thing about having fresh cut flowers at home and I was, uh, just kind of missing it, I guess. Anyway, picked up the ficus while I was there. Thought I’d give it to you. As a thank you for, you know, agreeing to help me with my art assignment.”

“That’s nice of you.” A _ficus,_ Louis thinks, trying to commit the name to his memory. “So I just have to water it, or…?”

He’s never had a plant of his own before. Even back home, any plant the Tomlinson family tried to sustain usually ended up wilting and dying off in no time. His mum was a bit more preoccupied with trying to keep his gaggle of younger siblings alive, and rightfully so.

“A bit of water, yeah. And sunlight.”

“Cool.”

Louis reaches down to the plant, running his fingers over one of its waxy leaves. When he looks back up, Harry’s rummaging through his rucksack, coming out with a pencil case. It’s probably time for him to get started.

“Do you need me to pose or something?” Louis asks, a wave of self-consciousness suddenly rushing over him. He adjusts his shirt again, pats a hand gently over his hair to make sure nothing’s fallen too terribly out of place.

“No, you’re good. You can just sit, however you’re comfortable.” Harry thumbs through his sketchpad before he stops on a blank page. He looks Louis over for a moment, seemingly studying him. It’s a odd feeling, even if it is what Louis signed up for, just sitting in a crowd in broad daylight while a stranger looks him up and down. Louis crosses his eyes and puffs out his cheeks, his funny face eliciting a small laugh from Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry says, “‘m a bit slow at this whole process at the moment.”

“No worries. Take all the time you need.”

Harry smiles at him kindly before focusing his attention to his sketchpad, making his first line of contact with the page.

Louis looks out toward the courtyard, focusing on a couple of girls who have started doing yoga poses in the grass. It provides a distraction of sorts, keeping his mind off the fact that he’s being carefully studied and sketched. If he really tunes in he can hear Harry’s pencil moving across the paper, but at least this way he doesn’t have to watch it too.

Yoga looks awful. The girls are lifting their legs in the air before catapulting them across their bodies. Liam always tries to tell him that yoga would be a great way to crosstrain, but he’s not buying it. He’ll stick to footie when he feels like being active and their comfy secondhand sofa when he doesn’t.

He hears Harry clear his throat at his side and turns to face him.

“Um, sorry. Do you think you could kind of keep your face in my direction? Would be easier to draw you straight on.”

“Sure,” Louis replies, angling his body toward Harry. He’s not sure what facial expression he should go for. Smiling seems lame, but he doesn’t think he could keep a serious look on if he tried. Neutral will have to do.

Louis actively tries not to make eye contact with Harry each time he looks up from his sketchpad. It’s proving to be a bit challenging. When Harry’s face is staring down at his paper he looks serious, contemplative. Each time he looks up at Louis, their eyes meet and he smiles briefly, his lips closed and dimple announcing itself only slightly before he gets back to business. He seems nervous, Louis realises. As strange of a situation as this is for Louis, it’s probably just as odd for Harry too. And more challenging, really, since he’s the one having to do the bulk of the work.

Louis’ specialty has always been easing tension. The joke master among his friends, he’s known for his effortless ability to get everyone laughing. Surely there must be something he can say right now to help ease up the awkwardness floating between him and Harry.

“I told my friends you were going to draw me naked.”

Louis holds his breath for a second after he speaks. He’s not sure if bringing up nudity with someone he just met is going to clear the air or make things worse.

Luckily, Harry smiles while he continues drawing, his pencil faltering only momentarily against the sketchpad. He never looks up, but his smile still hasn’t faded when he quietly responds.

“Maybe next time.”

His wit catches Louis off guard, causing him to laugh in earnest. Harry seems surprised, looking up to meet Louis’ eyes before beginning to giggle as well.

“I’ll just get to work on my six pack,” Louis says as their laughter dies down. Harry’s focus is back on his drawing but his face seems softer now, less tense.

“So you’re a first year, then?” Louis asks.

“Yeah. And you’re in your second?”

They start to chat back and forth as Harry continues working. Louis’ doing most of the talking, which he doesn’t mind. Harry’s primary focus is still on the paper on his lap, his tongue pressing between his teeth every so often as he works, but he’s answering Louis’ questions and nodding along with what Louis is saying as well. The moments of stilted silence and awkward eye contact have passed.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/152926131@N07/37575470162/in/dateposted-public/)

Louis learns that Harry’s from the tiny village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire. He wanted to go to uni in London to be closer to the art scene, not much unlike Louis’ choice to study theatre in the big city. It’s his first time away from his family and living in halls of residence is very different from living with his parents and older sister, but he says he’s adjusting so far. Harry shrugs when Louis asks him what he likes best about London. He’d arrived just before the term started, he explains, and hasn’t really gotten out much yet to explore.

Harry keeps working even as his phone rings inside his rucksack. He seems to be on a roll.

“Do you want a bit of advice on your first year of uni from someone who’s been there?” Louis asks. It’s ironic, maybe, considering he’s just finished telling Harry how he barely squeaked by the year prior.

Harry eyes Louis curiously. “Sure.”

“Your first year is all about finding yourself. You’re on your own for the first time, away from your family and the comforts of home. People react to that in different ways. Some people just can’t handle it, don’t make it to year two. And other people-”

“Nearly get kicked out?” Harry asks. He’s smirking. Louis’ made him almost too comfortable now.

“Excuse me. I didn’t get kicked out. I passed. Anyway, I’m glad I spent my first year how I did. I put myself out there. I did some stupid things, sure, but everything you’ll do in life is a learning experience. And maybe I’ll have to work harder in my lectures this year, but at least I feel like I know who I am and what I want to do moving forward.”

“So you’re saying if I party all year I’ll be ready for year two?”

Louis scoffs playfully. “If that’s how you want to water down all of the wisdom I just gave you, sure. Just, don’t take yourself too seriously is all I’m saying. And have some fun.”

“Fair enough.”

Harry’s phone rings again and Louis swears he can see the internal struggle as Harry’s gaze darts between his sketchpad and rucksack.

“You can answer it, you know. I don’t mind. Seems like someone’s trying to reach you.”

Harry unzips his rucksack. “It’s probably, um, my boyfriend. I usually call him on my way home from lecture. I’ll just text him.” He unlocks his phone, tapping the screen with his thumbs in quick succession.

Louis waits quietly as Harry sends his text. He feels a familiar rush of excitement course through him at the thought of potentially having a new mate in the same boat as him, sexuality wise. Louis had been a bit of a rare bird during his schooling days in Doncaster. Being the only openly gay kid around had never really bothered him, as his family’s always been wonderfully supportive and he’s never lacked self-confidence about who he is, but it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world to have had a like soul to share his experience with during his formative years. Living in London, though, has been an eye-opening adventure. The diversity he’s encountered and the friends he’s made from all walks of life were all an integral part of the first year experience he’s just described to Harry.

He wonders if Harry’s having a similar time so far, if his introduction to London has felt as invigorating as it had for Louis this time last year. Louis also knows he’s more extroverted than most, and that what was exciting for him could feel overwhelming to someone else. Perhaps Harry’s already found a solid group of mates, and he’s likely doing just fine, but Louis feels a pull to somehow let Harry know he’s not alone, just in case.

Harry’s back to drawing by now, maybe grateful for a brief reprieve from Louis’ chattering. That’s just too bad.

“Have you checked out the LGBTQ society on campus yet?” Louis asks, going for nonchalance. Harry shakes his head. “We meet the first Wednesday of the month. The president this year is one of my good mates and I know he’s got some fun stuff planned. Just, you know, if you wanted to meet some new people. It’s where I made a lot of friends my first year.”

Harry nods, his eyes focused on his work. A few moments of silence pass.

“I think I’ll check it out,” Harry says. “Thank you.”

Success.

It actually feels comfortable for Louis to maintain the silence after that. Harry gives him the okay to shrug his jacket back on as the sun starts to move behind a series of clouds. The groups of students in the courtyard start to leave with the disappearing sun, until the environment around them has shifted from one of excited chaos to about as peaceful a setting as you could expect on a university campus.

Louis’ surprised when Harry sets his pencil against the fountain ledge. “I think I’m done,” Harry says, looking back and forth between Louis and his drawing a few times. “Yeah.”

“Can I see?” Harry’s held his sketchpad at an angle in his lap throughout the drawing session, and Louis’ only been able to catch brief glimpses from where he’s been seated. He starts to stand so he can look at what Harry’s captured.

“Actually…” Harry moves quickly, folding his arms over his sketchpad, practically collapsing in on himself. “I’d rather you didn’t, if that’s okay? It’s just… it might not be very good. I dunno.”

“Oh.” Of course Louis’ curious to see Harry’s interpretation of him on paper, but it’s not worth sending him into a spiraling panic. “No worries. You don’t have to show me.”

“Thanks.”

Louis lingers as Harry shoves his sketchpad into his rucksack, pulling the zipper around its corners carefully. They stand in unison, Harry bouncing up to his toes as he looks at Louis.

“So. I guess I’ll see you in November, then?” Harry says.

Louis pauses, confused. “November?”

“Yeah. For the next drawing?”

“Huh?”

“Since I’m supposed to draw you every month until our art show in March, you know, to note changes in my portrait drawing skills using the same subject over time.” Harry’s face falls. “Did you not know that was my assignment?”

“Oh,” Louis replies. “Guess I missed that part.”

Harry rubs at the back of his neck, glancing down toward his boots. “I could probably try to find someone else to do it for me.”

A guilty responsibility pangs in Louis’ gut as Harry stands in front of him, seemingly on the verge of breaking down. After nearly an hour spent working to make Harry crack a smile, Louis’ bloody inability to pay attention in lecture has nearly ruined it. He hadn’t realised he’d signed up for a project that would span months, but that’s his own fault. It’s no skin off his back to meet up with Harry for a measly hour a month, especially if there’s a chance it could bring the smile back to his face.  

“No need to find anyone else,” Louis says. “I’m totally in.”

“Really?” Harry says, glancing up.

“Of course, yeah. It’ll be fun.”

Harry breathes a visible sigh of relief. “Thank you, Louis. So, can I email you in November to figure out another time to meet up?”

“How about I give you my number and you can text me instead?”

Harry nods.

They trade phone numbers before saying goodbye, Harry heading off in the direction of his hall. It takes Louis a moment to hoist his new potted plant against his hip, his steps unbalanced as he begins to lug it home.

He doesn’t make it very far before calling Niall for a second set of hands. Together they awkwardly shuffle the plant through the entryway of their flat and up the double set of stairs. Liam’s eyeing them curiously when they get in.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“It’s a ficus, obviously,” Louis says indignantly, dragging it across the hardwood flooring of their kitchen before setting it in the corner. “It’s perfect. Really livens up the space, don’t you think?” He moves to the nearest window and throws open the curtains Liam’s mum bought for them. “It needs sunlight.”

Liam looks at him like he’s grown two heads. So what if Louis’ never expressed interest in being a plant owner before? He’s going to care for this plant just to prove Liam wrong.

And because Harry gave it to him and he’s a nice person.

Louis opens his email later that night as he’s revising and sees a message from Harry. He realises it’s the one Harry mentioned sending when they met. Moot point now, but he still opens it.

_Hi, Louis! Thanks again for doing this for me. I realised we weren’t going to know how to find each other, so thought I’d kind of describe myself to you? I’m average height and a bit lanky. My friends from back home always say I’ve got giraffe limbs cause I’m a bit clumsy but hopefully you won’t see that side of me today. I’ll be wearing black trousers and have brown hair, but it will mostly be covered up by my hat. Hope that helps! Harry :)_

Louis giggles. Average height and brown hair describe half of the university population, so he doesn’t think reading this beforehand would have helped him at all. He can’t help but send back a quick reply.

_You didn’t remind me of a giraffe in the slightest. ;)_

\-- 

**NOVEMBER**

Louis’ waist deep in the pile of textbooks surrounding him in his bed when he hears his phone ping. He thought he’d silenced it in an effort to avoid distractions, but now that he’s knows someone’s texted him, he’s got to check it. Otherwise he’ll waste his revising time wondering who’s trying to reach him. That’s his excuse, anyway.  

He finds it shoved in between two pages of a textbook before he remembers he’d been using it as a bookmark. Its width has slightly stretched the book at the seam. Whoops.

Nick’s name is on the screen.  

_There was a little lost puppy looking for you at our meeting tonight_

Louis suddenly realises it’s Wednesday, and attending tonight’s LGBTQ society meeting completely slipped his mind.

 _Shit!_ he replies. _Trying to revise.. forgot it was tonight! Who was looking for me?_

He glances back at his computer. He’s got a five page essay due tomorrow morning and so far he’s got half a page.

_A kid named Harry? He’s a first year. Said he knows you._

Oh. Harry. It’s been a few weeks since they met at the fountain. Louis hasn’t heard from him since, he realises, hasn’t even given the whole art project much thought. He tries to recall how they left things, and he’s pretty sure the ball’s in Harry’s court to set up their next time to meet.

 _Harry’s cool. Glad he made it to group._ Louis sends the message on its way and returns his focus to a textbook. He sighs in time with the brush of a turning page.

He rereads the same paragraph three times over before looking back to his phone. He can’t quite get Nick’s choice of words about Harry out of his head. He glances over it again, trying to figure out why it’s bothering him. _Little lost puppy._ Harry’s a first year who’s finding his footing, but that’s not unlike many others. Who knows what would have happened to Liam if Louis hadn’t made it his mission to help him acclimate. Harry will come around to the uni experience with time.

Still, though. Liam managed to turn the corner because he had Louis. Or at least, Louis would like to think he had been a crucial part. Does Harry have anyone? Louis had assumed that between his flatmates and coursemates Harry had likely found his people, but… Nick had literally typed _lost puppy._ It doesn’t paint a nice image in Louis’ head.

He feels a sudden rush of guilt for not even thinking to check in with Harry over the past few weeks. It would have taken him mere seconds to text him a quick hello if he’d thought to do it, but frankly he’s just been busy. Actually attending lectures and completing coursework is serious business. Plus trying to maintain some semblance of a social life on top of it all has kept him void of a single second of free time.

He grabs his phone again. _What do you mean by lost puppy?_

Nick’s reply comes quickly. _Just seemed unsure of himself. The quiet, shy type. You know._

 _A society meeting can be a lot for a first timer,_ Louis texts. While everyone is very welcoming, they can also be a bit overzealous. It’s a lot to take in. The fact that even Louis thinks so is saying something.

He gets another ping, but this time it’s not Nick’s name popping up.

_Hi Louis, this is Harry Styles. The art student._

Speak of the devil.

He replies right away. _I know who you are. How are things going? :)_ The smile Louis sends matches the soft smile on his face. He’s clearly done with revising for the moment but it’s no matter. Tonight won’t be the first all nighter he’s pulled in the name of higher education.

_Good, thanks. I just thought we could schedule a time to meet up so I can draw you again?_

_Absolutely._

Louis’ realising the universe may have paired him with Harry Styles for a reason. He’s still earnestly trying to turn over a new leaf this year and be the best student he can, but he knows his ability to make the most of his first year was truly a gift. And gifts are meant to be shared. Louis shoves his textbooks aside, letting them clatter to the floor as the idea formulates in his head. He’s going to serve as more than just the subject of Harry’s drawings. He’s going to be Harry’s friend, his mentor if he wants one. Even if Harry’s already made some friends, it never hurts to have one more. And besides, Louis will be able to give Harry a better first year in London experience than anyone else ever possibly could. At the end of it all, Louis will have another good mate and Nick’s going to sit in disbelief that Harry ever gave off a lost puppy vibe.

“Why are you staring at your ceiling? And what was that crashing sound?” Liam’s deadpan questioning technique from Louis’ doorway effectively ends his moment of brilliance.

“Was just brainstorming,” he says. “And my books slipped.”

“How’s your essay coming along?”

“Great.” He scans the floor to find the textbook he’d bookmarked. It’s shut now. _Great._

Liam makes his eye roll evident before he walks away.

Okay, so Louis will definitely set some type of plan into motion to befriend Harry. Just as soon as he gets his bloody essay done.

\--

Louis meets up with Harry the following Thursday. It’s a bit chillier this time around, too cold to comfortably linger outside, so Louis suggests a cafe straight off campus. He normally just pops in for a boiling hot tea on his way to lecture, but he’s seen students meeting up to revise there too.

He walks quickly from the art building, shoving his hands in his pockets to ward off the cold. Liam’s already got gloves out this time of year, but Louis’ track record at managing to keep two gloves together is not so good. He just suffers and complains instead.

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one efficiently as he keeps up his walking pace. The haze of the smoke lingers briefly in the air around him, almost providing an illusion of warmth if he pretends hard enough.

It’s still fucking freezing out.

He rounds a corner, the door of the cafe finally coming into view.  Eager to make his way inside, Louis crosses the street quickly. He pauses when he hears his name.  

Harry’s on a bench outside of the cafe, sketchpad and pencil in hand.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks. “It’s freezing.”

“‘s not so bad,” Harry shrugs. “I don’t really mind the cold.” He’s bundled up for the weather, his grey peacoat fully buttoned and revealing only a glimpse of the scarf wrapped around his neck. He doesn’t have gloves on either, Louis notices, but then he realises why. Harry’s in the midst of sketching.

“You’re drawing something?” Louis asks, taking a seat beside him.

Harry nods. “Just doodling while I waited. Actually-” he slowly rips the page from his pad. “Here. You can have it if you want.”

Louis takes the paper, studying Harry’s sketch of the arched entry of the cafe.

“Drew it a bit fast,” Harry says, “not my best work.”

“No way. This looks awesome.” Louis’ not too familiar with the visual art world, but Harry’s quick drawing seems almost abstract in a way. He’s captured the character of the door and window of the cafe. He’s added in the dying vine to the left of the door and somehow personified the cracks in the pavement as hurried scribbles. It all seems to set the tone for the impending winter, his sharp pencil marks somehow making the scene appear cold. Louis wonders how his depiction may have looked different in the warm months of summer.

“You don’t actually have to take it,” Harry says after a moment. “Thought you’d just maybe like to see that I really can draw, I guess. Since you’re letting me do your portraits and all.”

“I am one hundred percent keeping this,” Louis says, holding it to his chest. “Pretty sure my flatmates and I don’t have a single piece of artwork hung on the wall. But we will now. And an original Harry Styles piece at that.”

Harry shakes his head, smiling as he collects his rucksack from the ground. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Louis stubs out his cigarette on the pavement and quickly follows behind.

The cafe’s busy, but they enter at the perfect time. Louis manages to snag a cosy two-person table right by the fireplace as a couple stands up to leave. “Do you want to get drinks while I save our spot?” he asks, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

“Sure,” Harry agrees. “Don’t give me any money, though. My treat.”

Louis frowns. “You don’t have to give me a gift or buy me a cuppa every time we meet up. I’m doing this for you as a volunteer, you know. No payment necessary.”

“Just this once, then,” Harry says.

Louis’ easily convinced. He watches Harry stand in line, his hands in his pockets as he appears to study the menu. He seems a bit guarded again today, unsure of the picture Louis’ carefully pressed between two books in his rucksack. Louis only hopes he’ll warm up again in time. If friendship is his goal, they can’t start each drawing session back at square one. Surely a warm beverage and spot by the fire will help.

Harry’s back soon enough, precariously balancing two mugs in one hand and holding a plate with a muffin in the other. They both shrug off their coats and settle in, sipping eagerly at their tea. Louis’ finally regaining feeling in his fingers.

“Their blueberry muffin is the best. Good choice.” Louis breaks off a piece. “Hope you intended to share.”

“Yeah, of course.”

They eat quietly for a moment before Louis decides to get the conversation flowing.

“Heard you went to the LGBTQ meeting last week. Have fun?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “it was good. The people I met seemed nice. That reminds me, Nick said to tell you hi. And that you’re in trouble for skipping it.”

Louis laughs. “Nick’s a good lad. Glad he’s president this year. I think he’ll make it fun.”

“Yeah,” Harry answers, before taking a careful sip of his drink. He’s not made a move to open his sketchpad yet, which Louis is taking as a good sign. If he and Harry are going to become friends, they’ve got to do more than just complete coursework when they’re together. Harry sets his mug down before clearing his throat. “Nick referred to you as his, ah, ex-lover?”

Louis snorts. Ah, Nick Grimshaw. He’s always had a big mouth. Good for gossip and… other things. “It’s true,” he answers. “Nick and I did have a bit of a thing last year.”

They’d met at the LGBTQ mixer the society had held at the beginning of his first year. Nick had intrigued him from the start. He was a vibrant and loud second year with a personality that could command the room.

They’d become friends, then fuck buddies. Since they’d both liked each other, they had made the genius decision one night over a shared bottle of wine to give the whole dating thing a go. Louis should have known that dating someone just as stubborn and mouthy as himself was a recipe for disaster. Trying to be in a relationship with Nick had worked about as well as an explosion. As in, not well at all.

“So, why’d you break up?” Harry asks, as if he has a front row seat to the inner thoughts making their way through Louis’ brain.

“We just make better friends,” Louis answers, honestly. After a few weeks of making each other completely miserable, they’d mutually decided to call it off and had eventually settled into a comfortable friendship. It’s easier to banter with Nick and just enjoy his presence in general when Louis’ not expected to share his bed or reply to his texts in a timely fashion.

“Hmm,” Harry says. He must have opened his sketchpad without Louis noticing and is now eyeing him quizzically, his pencil hovering over a page.

“You’ve never stayed friends with an ex?” Louis asks.

“Never had an ex.”

Oh. Makes sense, Louis supposes. It’s not like he has an extensive list of exes himself. Being the token out-and-proud gay kid in his small hometown hadn’t earned him much more than a few covert snogging sessions with classmates trying to figure themselves out, and anyone since Nick has been a mutually agreed upon one-night occurrence.

He’s actually in the same spot as Harry, he thinks. One legitimate relationship.

“This is your first boyfriend, then?” Louis asks.

“Uh huh.” He can tell Harry’s started to focus on his drawing. Louis watches him for a moment, watches his eyebrows furrow as he makes long strokes across his page before his eyes dart back up to study Louis.

Louis’ pretty sure he’s never had someone look at him with such intensity. His mum has studied his face with concern when he’s been hit in the eye during footie. There was a time when Nick had looked at him with softness, paired with a hand grazing his cheek. The way Harry looks at him isn’t like that. It’s different when someone is trying to capture your every feature down to a tee. It’s reverent but also purposeful. It’s unique.

“How long have you two been dating?” Louis asks. He wonders if Harry’s the long term relationship type. So far he hasn’t managed to be.

It’s not that he couldn’t see himself having a long term boyfriend. It’s not something he’s actively seeking out necessarily, especially if he’s trying to focus on his coursework this year, but if the right person came along…

“Just a couple of months, actually.”

Louis can feel his forehead scrunch as he does some mental math. Hopefully Harry doesn’t include the exaggerated wrinkles as part of his sketch.

“So, did you meet him out here then?”

Harry shakes his head. He sighs, flipping his pencil around and vigorously erasing something on the page before he dusts off the remnants of pink. It’s another moment before he speaks.

“He’s my best friend from back home. We started dating right before I moved to London.” He’s frowning at the page.

“Am I not doing something right?” Louis asks, suddenly self conscious. He sits up a bit straighter, adjusting his shirt.

It takes Harry a moment to look up. “Sorry, no, you’re fine,” he says. He sets his sketchpad face down across the surface of the small table. “It’s me. I’m not getting it right.”

“I’m sure if looks great,” Louis says in an attempt to reassure him. Of course, he’d be better able to cheer Harry on if Harry would let him _see_ whatever he’s drawing, but now’s not the time to be pushy. “Can I do anything to make it easier for you?”

Harry shakes his head. “The lighting’s just different today. We had sun last time and the drawing just turned out a bit… brighter? I don’t know. But it was probably stupid to draw you in the sun. It‘s not like there’s going to be any of that for the next few months.”

Louis feels like he’s losing ground with Harry and he can’t figure out why. Harry’d been fine when they were just talking but then he started drawing and… it’s like he puts up a wall. Maybe it’s the pressure of the assignment, Louis decides. He’s seen Liam get this way before. When he’s overwhelmed with his course he gets frantic, pacing around the flat as he recites what can only be physics formulas. It’s terrifying.

“How about we just hang out for a little while?” Louis says. “I’ve got nowhere else to be this afternoon. There’s really no rush. We could just talk.”

Harry looks up. “What would we talk about?”

“Whatever you want. I’m not sure you ever really told me how you got into art?”

Just talking without the weight of a sketchpad heavy in Harry’s hand seems to do the trick. Harry speaks slowly at first, almost cautiously, telling Louis about how he discovered his love for art by accident. He was seven years old and spent hours drawing pictures of his mum’s garden one summer when he’d been grounded for a week. He’s actually most fond of painting landscapes, he says, but art students are expected to spread their wings by creating other types of art during their time in university, hence the portrait drawing assignment.

He begins to talk about his family. He’d mentioned them to Louis last time, but today he goes into detail describing his witty older sister, his lovely mum, his kind stepdad. He knew he’d miss them a lot by moving out here, but he thinks it will be worth it in the end, he says. If he can really make a name for himself.

His boyfriend doesn’t come up once. Louis’ not sure if that’s an oversight or an intentional exclusion in the Harry Styles origin story. He’s also not sure why he’s focusing in on that omission.

Eventually Harry picks his pad up again, neither of them making note of it as he starts to draw soft lines while he talks. Louis can tell when Harry gets to a point in his drawing that requires more focus, so he takes over the conversation eventually, telling Harry about his sisters and brother and his love of his home football team. Harry laughs softly when Louis tells him about the summer he spent selling snacks at the stadium, and how he’d thought that would somehow give him an edge to getting on the footie team at the age of 15. He’s almost surprised when Harry announces he’s finished.

“That didn’t seem too bad,” Louis says.

Harry shrugs. “I think it… turned out okay.”

“I’m sure it’s great.”

Neither of them make a move to get up. Harry closes his sketchpad and sets it on his lap before taking another sip from his mug. Louis runs his finger over a muffin crumb on the plate between them.

“So,” Louis asks, “what are you up to this weekend?”  

“Uh, not sure. Bit of revising, I guess. You?”

Louis’ doing something with Harry this weekend, he’s decided. They can’t develop a friendship meeting up just once a month, and maybe running into each other at society meetings when Louis remembers to go. Louis realises he hasn’t done a great job trying to figure out what Harry might enjoy doing in London, so he tries to think about what he’ll likely do this weekend, and if anything might be a good match for asking Harry to come along. An epiphany hits.

“Oh!” he says, “Something really fun, actually! Have you ever been to McAfree’s?”

Harry shakes his head.

“They have trivia on Friday nights. I go sometimes with a few mates. You should come.”

“Oh, uh, I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Harry, are you kidding? You wouldn’t be intruding at all. Shit, you’d probably help us! We never win. Get a little too focused on the alcohol part of the event and tend to gloss over the questions. You should _definitely_ come. If you want to, I mean.” Maybe he’s overselling it.

Harry seems to mull it over before giving him a tentative nod.

“Tomorrow at seven at McAfree’s, okay? It’s on the south side of campus, just across the street.”

They part ways outside the entrance of the cafe, Harry promising he’ll meet up with Louis tomorrow. Louis doesn’t notice the biting cold as much on his way back to his flat. There’s a sense of excitement buzzing through him, just from knowing he’ll get to see Harry again so soon. It will be nice to show him a fun side of London.

\--

“You okay there, Lou? Gonna give yourself whiplash if you’re not careful.”

Louis sticks his tongue out at Perrie before turning his head back to the door. He’d been the first one to arrive at trivia night for once. He’s managed to secure a prime table and enough chairs for their whole group. He’s going to show Harry Styles a good time.

His friends haven’t stopped teasing him, though. For being punctual, and for reminding them _a billion times over_ \- Perrie’s words - to be kind to Harry. It’s not like they would have been mean to him, of course, but tonight is about making Harry feel as welcome as possible.

Louis spots him as soon as he walks in. Harry stops at the entrance, pulling off his hat and running his hands through his hair as he looks around. He stands from their table to wave.

“Harry! Over here.”

Harry smiles when he catches sight of him and begins quickly weaving through the tables to make his way over.

“Hey,” Harry says when he reaches them, surprising Louis by pulling him into a hug. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course,” Louis says. “Glad you could come. I think our chances of winning tonight just increased by a fair margin.” Harry smiles.

Perrie clears her throat at the table. “Hi there,” she says sweetly, extending her hand. “I’m Louis’ friend. Perrie.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, motioning for Harry to sit as he does the same. “Perrie and I are both in drama course together.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, shaking her hand. “So, you want to be an actor?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Perrie’s face lights up at Harry’s question. That will keep her talking for a while.

Louis halfway listens as Perrie chatters away. He’s mainly watching Harry, though. He seems to be listening so intently, nodding along with every little thing Perrie says. He’s either genuinely interested or perfectly polite.

Niall swoops in with a tray just as Perrie’s about to start in on her entire resume of performances. “Brain food, everyone,” he announces, setting a basket of chips on the table before he starts passing out shots. “Hey, new guy.”

“This is Harry,” Louis says. “The first year I told you about.”

Niall introduces himself as he shoves a handful of chips into his mouth, “So,” he says, “you’re the artist then, huh? You must be a good lad if you’re putting up with painting Louis’ ugly mug on the regular.”

“Hey!” Louis says. He scans the pints on the tray before swiping the fullest of the bunch.

“Louis’ actually easy to draw,” Harry says. “He’s got nice features.”

“Did you hear that? I’ve got _nice_ features.”

Niall’s laugh is loud enough to carry across the pub. “‘m sure you do.” He passes Harry a pint.

“My better flatmate will be here in a bit.” Louis stage-whispers in Harry’s direction. He’s met with laughter on both sides.

“Alright,” Niall announces, once they’ve settled into the table and taken their first shots of the night. “We going to go with our standard team name, then?”

Louis groans. “It’s a new year, Niall. Can’t we let last year’s bet go?”

Niall shrugs. “Dunno, Lou. I did kick your arse last year. It was only fair.”

“What are they talking about?” Louis hears Harry ask Perrie.

“Let me tell you the story, young Harold,” Louis cuts in. “There was one time, just _one time,_ I challenged Niall the Irish over here to a drinking contest. I may have lost by a bit.”

“He lost by a lot,” Niall adds.

 _“Anyway,_ as part of being the winner, Niall got to choose our trivia team name for the year. So, all of first year, we were Niall and the Potatoes.”

Niall cackles at that. “So classic. It’s like I’ve got me own group of backup singers.”

Perrie rolls her eyes. “It was lame.”

“Actually, I have an idea,” Louis suggests. “Let’s have Harry pick the team name tonight. He’s our new mate. He should get a say.”

Niall turns over easily. “Harry can pick it for tonight,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

Louis looks to Harry, not expecting to see his face stricken with panic. “That alright?” he asks.

“I don’t want to pick something stupid,” Harry says.

“You won’t. It’s just for fun.”

Harry seems to consider it for a long while, resting his face against his palm. “I think I have one,” he says, finally. “But it might be kind of lame.”

“Out with it,” Niall says.

“It was the name of my sister’s trivia team when her friends used to hit up the pub trivia night back home. They won a lot, so maybe it has a bit of luck behind it?”

“Let’s hear it,” Louis says.

“Okay. It was, um… Let’s Get Quizzical?”

Perrie squeals immediately. “Yes, I love it! Let’s Get Quizzical!”

Harry’s looking at Louis, almost like he’s waiting for his approval.

“An Olivia Newton-John pun? I’m totally in.”

Liam arrives just as Perrie begins to sing “Let’s Get Quizzical,” lifting imaginary weights as she goes. He eyes her curiously. “What did I miss?”

“Liam!” Perrie announces. “We’re team Let’s Get Quizzical!”

“It was Harry’s idea,” Niall says, pointing a finger in his direction.

“Oh, you’re Harry.” Liam shakes his hand before taking a seat at the table. Seating five at a small pub table leaves little personal space. Harry knocks elbows with Louis as he tries to create more room for Liam, whispering a quiet apology. “You’re the one who got Louis that plant, right?”

“Excuse me,” Louis says, bringing a hand to his chest. “She has a _name.”_

Liam rolls his eyes. “Right. Sorry.”

“You named her?” Harry asks, smiling.

“Of course. Her name is Fernie. Actually, hold on.” Louis pulls his phone from his pocket, thumbing through for his latest Fernie photo. “Here she is in all her glory,” he says, tilting his phone toward Harry.

“Lou’s a bit ridiculous about that plant, Harry,” Niall says. “Won’t let Liam and me touch it.”

“Liam nearly overwatered her.” Louis says, defending himself. Fernie may be in their shared flat, but it’s _his_ ficus, as he’s reminded them before.

“I just didn’t think you’d actually been watering it!” Liam says. “Remember those flowers your sisters brought you last year after your play?”

“A bouquet of flowers isn’t meant to last,” Louis scoffs. They would have lasted longer if he’d ever managed to get them in a vase, but it’s a moot point. “Fernie was a gift and I intend to keep her forever.”

Their conversation is forced to come to a halt as the night’s trivia host comes on over the microphone. Harry brings his lips to Louis’ ear.

“I always named my mum’s plants at home too. I’m glad you named her Fernie.” He moves his lips away quickly, smiling as he turns his attention to the host.

The night’s just getting started and Harry’s smile is already brighter than Louis’ seen before.

\--

“It’s totally Lady Gaga, lads, I’m telling you.” Louis bangs his fist against the table, as if that’s going to convince Liam and Niall to trust him. He’s gotten three questions wrong so far, but he’s sure he knows this one.

“Is she Italian or something?” Niall asks. “Seems like an Italian name.”

“I don’t bloody know, I haven’t asked her. But I remembered her real name was Stefani something. Harry,” he pleads, “back me up here.”

Harry’s taken his time pondering over every question tonight. He’s not yet been the first to offer an answer, instead choosing to side with the majority each time. Louis’ got the feeling he doesn’t want to cost the group a single point. Hopefully he’ll realise soon that they’re really not in it to win, even if Liam did yell at Louis after they missed the last one.

“I think the answer’s Lady Gaga,” Harry finally says, Louis whooping as their tablemates groan.

“Fine,” Liam moans, “put Lady Gaga. But if you’re wrong again, Lou…”

“Liam. It’s trivia. We’re just doing it for fun. Besides, I know I’m right this time. Stefani Germa-whatever’s stage name is Lady Gaga.”

Louis gets their answer down on the whiteboard just as the host’s calling time. He sets it at the edge of their table, waiting for the answer to be announced.

“And the correct answer is… Lady Gaga.”

“I told you!” Louis yells, high fiving Harry before raising his hands over his head triumphantly. “You all doubted me!”

“A little excited over there, Tommo?” Nick shouts from across the pub. “You would have been a disgrace to our entire community if you’d missed that one.” Louis just sticks his tongue out at him. Nick and his third year teammates, the Gay-ngsters, are annoyingly good at trivia. They beat Louis’ little rag-tag team every bloody time.

“Harry,” Nick calls out. “You sure you still don’t want to switch teams, hun?”

Harry smiles, shaking his head.

Nick had sashayed his way over to their table earlier, trying to steal Harry away. “If you’re here to win,” he’d teased, “you’ll want to switch tables before I start kicking some serious second year arse.”

“Piss off, Grimmy,” Louis had said, protectively throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “He’s here with us.” He’d felt secretly proud when Harry had almost immediately declared that he was going to stay with Louis and his friends.

It makes more sense for Harry to get to know Louis’ group anyway. They may be a year older than him, but they’ll still be around uni a whole year longer than Nick and his mates. Those lads are basically old news at this point.

“What place does your team usually get?” Harry quietly asks Louis between rounds.

Louis shrugs. “I mean, we don’t generally come in last place.”

“So, second to last?”

Louis laughs. “That’s why you’re here. We needed some extra brain power. No pressure.”

They’re down to the bonus round. Team Let’s Get Quizzical has managed to score 60 points, placing them solidly in the middle of the pack. The Gay-ngsters have 90 points, but Louis’ not thinking about that. They’re trying to decide how much to wager on the final question.

“The topic will be…” The host pauses for suspense. “Classical art.”

“Yes!” Louis says. “Harry, you’ve totally got this in the bag, right?”

He swears Harry’s face goes ghost-white as all eyes fall on him. “Um, I might know it? It really depends on the question. I don’t know.”

“I bet you’ll know it, Harry,” Perrie says. Liam and Niall chime in with similar words of encouragement.

Louis whispers in his ear. “We usually wager all of our points on the final question anyway. If we don’t get it, ‘s not like it will be different from a normal trivia night.”

Harry’s quiet for a second before he nods.

“We’re all in!” Louis announces to the table.

“All in!” Niall takes a celebratory swig of his beer.

The host comes back over his microphone. “The question is… in 1495 in Milan, a painting was completed that still remains world famous today. Who painted it and what is it called?”

“A double question?” Louis shouts. “Lame.” He looks to Harry.

Harry seems deep in thought. He’s gazing down at his lap, his eyebrows pinched together, his hands rubbing against his thighs. He suddenly whips his head upright to look at their group. “I know it.”

Liam shoves the whiteboard at him. “Write it down then!”

Harry scribbles quickly. _Leonardo da Vinci, The Last Supper._ He sets the whiteboard at the edge of their table.

They watch as the host walks around, marking answers on his clipboard. It takes him ages to make his way back to the front of the space. Their table is, for once, completely silent. Louis thinks Liam may actually be holding his breath.

“If you answered da Vinci and The Last Supper, you are correct!”

Perrie squeals excitedly as Niall and Liam jump up from their seats to cheer. Louis pulls Harry into a hug.

“Harry, you did it! We didn’t lose!”

That’s when Louis notices the blasted Gay-ngsters are also having a similar celebration at their table. Bloody wankers.

They leave the pub later as champions. Well, in fourth place out of eight tables. Niall’s been chanting “middle of the pack” for a solid twenty minutes, and he continues even as the cool November night air hits them like a brick wall on their way out the door.

“You lot didn’t completely suck tonight,” Nick says, walking past them with another third year. His team had come in second. At least they didn’t win.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Harry here is our good luck charm,” Louis says, nudging Harry as they continue their stroll.

“I’ll say. Better keep this kid around.” Nick sloppily pats Louis on the back before breaking into a run after his friend. “Night Lou!”

Louis laughs. An eventual silence takes over their group. Perrie’s given Niall a piece of gum and that’s somehow convinced him to stop chanting. He’s walking at the front of their pack, Liam and Perrie carrying on a quiet conversation in the middle.

Louis looks to Harry. “So, did you have fun?”

“I did, definitely. Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome to come any time.”

Harry nods. “Think I might. It’s almost like revising, you know? Like, trying to recall random facts.”

“Harry. You don’t have to think about revising all the time. That goes against the Louis Tomlinson first year guidelines, remember? Live a little. Learn about yourself.”

“Right, right,” Harry says. “Your sage first year advice.”

“Yep.”

They stop across the street from Perrie’s flat. She insists on kissing them all on the cheek before she leaves, saving the last one for Harry. “Glad you came tonight, love. Hope we’ll be seeing you again.”

“I think we will,” Louis answers. Harry smiles softly in response.

They walk a few more blocks before it’s time for their path to veer from Harry’s. “Did you want us to walk with you?” Liam asks. “It’s a bit late.”

“Think I’ll be fine,” Harry says. “Thanks though.”

Liam and Niall say goodbye and start slowly making their way down the street. Niall’s talking to Liam about the cracks in the pavement. The gum only kept him busy for so long.

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk alone?” Louis asks.

“Yeah. I need to, ah,” he holds up his phone, “call Jonny anyway.”

“Okay,” Louis says. _Jonny,_ he catalogues. That’s obviously the boyfriend’s name. “Well, thanks for coming tonight.”

“Thank you for having me.”

Louis pauses for a moment before stepping forward. They hug briefly, Louis clapping a hand against his back before he lets go. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Harry nods. “Okay. Bye, Louis.”

He watches Harry walk away for a few moments, turning once Harry presses his phone to his ear.

Louis ambles slowly behind his flatmates, in no hurry to catch up. It’s been a nice night. It seems like they were able to show Harry a good time. He feels satisfied in a way, like he had when Liam started to come out with them around this time last year. And just like with Liam, he can see the potential for genuinely becoming friends with Harry, too.  

Second year doesn’t solely have to be the year Louis gets his shit together. He can look out for somebody else and foster a new friendship along the way.

\--

**DECEMBER**

A knocking sound pulls Louis from the throes of sleep. He rubs his eyes, confusion settling over him. Is someone banging on the wall?

He sits up, his head spinning as it takes his body a moment to regain its equilibrium. The knocking starts up again, its timbre pounding into his head like a giant nail.

His brain catches up eventually. Someone’s at the door.

He pushes himself off the couch, keeping his duvet wrapped around him as he shuffles over to open it. His nose is starting to run again. Obnoxious.

It’s Harry standing on the other side, his cheeks a ruddy red from the cold. He’s smiling at first, but his eyes widen as he looks at Louis. It’s been awhile since Louis’ looked in a mirror, but he’d guess he’s not looking his best.

“Harry, hey.”

“Are you okay, Lou?”

“Just a cold, I think,” Louis says. “‘m gonna go back to the couch.” As he slowly moves to return to his space for the day, he can hear Harry shutting the door and toeing off his boots behind him.

Harry sits in the overstuffed chair Niall dragged home from a street corner at the beginning of term. “You seemed okay when I saw you at trivia?”

Louis shrugs. “Part of life, I guess. Just came on yesterday.” He’s wracking his brain trying to remember if he and Harry were supposed to do something today. They’re definitely friends now. They see each other every Friday at trivia and have started meeting at the cafe a few days a week to revise and hang out. Harry’s never really just shown up at his flat before though, and he can’t remember why he would have asked him over on a Sunday.

It hits him. Footie.

“Ah, shit.” Louis says, “I completely forgot we were going to play footie today. I’ve got to text the others.” His phone is in the pocket of his trackies. Retrieving it requires him to momentarily shrug off his duvet, and he whimpers as the cold air of the flat hits him. Being sick is the worst.

He’s pretty sure the flat is empty besides him and Harry, so Liam must be at the library and Niall is who-knows-where. He composes a message in their group chat, letting them know he can’t make it and to spread the word.

“Sorry,” Louis says. “Should have thought to text you.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s no big deal.” Louis feels even worse when he realises Harry’s dressed for the event. He’s got on track pants and real trainers and is even wearing a headband to hold his hair back. Louis realises it’s the one Perrie gave him and the rest of the boys to wear to trivia nights. They are officially team Let’s Get Quizzical now and their matching neon headbands most definitely intimidate their opponents.

He’s never seen Harry dressed down, come to think of it. He’s always in real trousers and nice shirts and bloody boots. Harry must have picked out this outfit just for footie today.

“You could always go without me if you want,” Louis offers. “I could give you Niall’s number.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “I’m not much of the footie type anyway.”

Louis sneezes suddenly, reaching forward for the box of tissues on the floor. Harry beats him to it and passes him the box with a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks.” It feels like it takes a solid minute for Louis to blow all the junk out of his nose, and when he’s done he lets his used tissues fall onto the floor at his feet. He’ll deal with them later.

“Ugh,” he says. “Wish I could have a smoke right now. Too lazy to go outside.”

“I don’t really mind,” Harry replies.

Louis shakes his head. “Liam doesn’t like us smoking in the flat. And I swear he’d know the second he got home. He has like… a dog’s sense of smell or something. One of those ones that sniffs things out at the airport.” He sighs. “I should quit anyway. I know it’s not the healthiest habit on the planet.”

Harry takes a moment before he replies. “I think smoking is kind of gross, to be honest,” he says, his voice quiet.

“Are you calling me gross?” Louis asks. His pitches rises at the end, which sends him into a coughing fit. Pleasant.

“No, no,” Harry says, waiting for him to stop coughing before he continues. “I don’t think _you’re_ gross. Just, you know, smoking is. A bit.”

“I see how it is,” Louis says, his tone light. He doesn’t care how sick he might be. One thing he’s learned over the past few weeks is that teasing Harry is always fun. It’s ridiculously easy to make him blush.

They sit across the room for a few minutes in silence, Louis wrapping his duvet tightly around his shoulders. Their flat really must be draftier than usual today, he thinks. He may need to ask Liam if he’s noticed a difference in temperature. Eventually, Harry clears his throat.

“Um… do you need me to get you anything? Some tea, maybe? Or would you rather I leave so you can rest?”

Louis definitely feels like shit, but he’s not too sleepy now. “I wouldn’t mind some company,” he says. “Maybe we can play FIFA? ‘s kind of like our original plan today.”

Harry smiles. “Sure.”

Turns out Harry’s just as dreadful at virtual football as he claims to be at the real deal. Louis thinks his own reflexes are likely a bit slower than usual today, his bloody pounding headache weighing him down, but somehow he’s still completely crushing him. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, though. He laughs and playfully tosses his controller onto the couch when he messes up - not the best strategy, as the game keeps going. It’s not quite the same level of competition as playing with Niall, but it’s still fun.

They switch over to watching telly eventually, Louis settling on a recent James Bond film as he burrows further into the couch. “Daniel Craig is kind of a fox, no? For a middle aged man, at least.”

Harry laughs. “I guess so. He’s not too bad.”

“Do you have any celebrity crushes?” Louis asks. It might be a lame conversation topic, but he’s curious. He has no idea what Harry’s boyfriend looks like, so he doesn’t know what his type could be. And talking celebrity crushes with his gay friends is way more fun than hearing Liam and Niall drool over the newest Victoria’s Secret model. Not exactly his type.

“Hmm…” Harry thinks for a moment. Louis has noticed he likes to think through every question he’s asked, whether it’s during trivia or in conversation. It’s like he always wants to give his most genuine and accurate answer, no matter what the subject. “The Ryans are quite nice.”

“Gosling and Reynolds? Agreed. How about the Hemsworths though?” Louis says, Harry humming his agreement. “How does one family have such good genes, honestly? Share some with the rest of us.”

“Oh, how about Zac Efron?” Harry suggests.

“Yes, talk about a glow up. From High School Musical to today… wow.” Louis attempts to whistle, but it just makes his throat hurt.

Harry nods. “I’ve heard he might be gay.”

“I’ve heard that too. Only time will tell, I suppose.”

They watch the movie for a while, inserting commentary back and forth as it plays. Louis’ finding ways to nitpick every special effect the filmmakers seem to have employed, Harry valiantly trying to defend them one by one. Neither of them have any idea what they’re talking about for the most part, but it keeps an old film amusing.

Louis eventually looks to his phone. “Bloody hell, it’s past six. Are you hungry?”

Harry bites his lip, a sheepish look taking over his face. “I’m starving.”

“Harry. You could have said something.” Louis tends to be the type to let his mates know the second he feels the slightest pang of hunger. His cold must be suppressing his appetite. “I’m sure we have food in the kitchen.”

“I can make us both something if you want?” Harry offers, pushing himself up from the couch. “What sounds good?”

Louis’ not sure what might still be left in the cupboard from the last time Liam’s mum came by and insisted on shopping for them. “Just scrounge around and call out what you find.”

Harry’s already on his feet as he nods. Within moments, Louis can hear the sound of the cupboards swiftly opening and closing.

“Did you find anything yet?” Louis asks.

“Uhm. Just mugs. Oh! Here we go. Okay… pasta… canned tuna…”

“Disgusting.”

“Noted. Ah, how about some soup? You’ve got a few cans of chicken noodle.”

“That’ll work,” Louis says. Thank God for Karen Payne. He’s trying not to be a baby about feeling poorly, but this cold really is getting the best of him. If he was at home, his mum would definitely be coddling him with a batch of her homemade soup. Eating a canned version with Harry will be a decent substitute.

“Should just take a few minutes,” Harry calls out. Louis hears him rummaging for a pot, then the telltale sound of water filling up the kettle. He’s making tea without Louis even asking. Impressive.

Harry’s setting down two cups of tea within moments. “Hey, Fernie’s looking great,” he says, smiling at Louis before returning to the kitchen.

“Thank you! She really does liven up the space, no?”

“Truly. Like your picture, too.”

“Ah yes,” Louis says. He knows exactly what Harry’s referring to, a slightly torn piece of sketchpad paper hung above their makeshift kitchen table with masking tape. “It’s by a young, budding local artist. I think he said it’s called _Amazing Rendition of Cafe Door.”_

He hears Harry stifle a laugh.

Five minutes later, Louis’ slurping on warm noodles and sipping his tea while the telly plays in the background. He swears he can feel the heat soothing his throat. It’s as close to perfect as he could get under the circumstances.

He’s confused when he opens his eyes later to find Liam shaking him awake. Louis can’t quite make out what he’s saying in his sleepy haze.

“What time is it?” Louis asks, rubbing at his eyes.

“Nearly ten,” Liam says. “You should get into bed. Your back will hurt if you sleep out here all night.”

Louis grumbles but he knows Liam’s right. He starts trudging down the hallway, his duvet trailing behind him, before he realises he’s lost some time. “Liam?” he says. “Did Harry leave?”

“Uh huh.” Liam opens Louis’ door, nudging him into the space. “He said he hopes you feel better.”

“Harry’s a nice one,” Louis says. His legs hit his bed and he faceplants comfortably into its soft embrace.

He hears Liam chuckling although he’s not sure why. “Yes he is, Lou. Shout if you need something.”

\--

“Just let me hold the bloody phone, Lou! You know I take the best group selfies!”

“Fine,” Louis pouts, dropping his mobile into Niall’s outstretched hand. He almost feels like capturing this photo has become more trouble than it’s worth.

Niall positions himself in the front of their group. Louis watches Perrie adjust her headband on her forehead and laughs as Liam flexes his muscles for the camera. He crosses his eyes just as Niall finally captures the winning shot.

“That’ll do,” he says, snatching back his phone and pulling up his messages.

 _Team Let’s Get Quizzical misses you :(,_ he writes, proofreading before pressing send.

“Let us know if Harry likes it, yeah?” Perrie says, nudging his arm.

“Will do.”

It feels like time is flying. It’s somehow already the end of fall term and the threats Louis’ mum made back in September are looking like they won’t apply. Louis’ pretty proud of himself, really. He’s been busier than ever, but he’s somehow struck a balance between being a decent student and still having fun with his mates. Even when grave illness threatened to knock him out of commission, he’d managed to attend his lectures and fight his way through. His mum had told him not to miss lecture unless he had blood running out of his eyes, and that’s exactly what he’d done. It’s safe to say he’s got this whole university thing down.

His phone vibrates against the table. Harry’s sent a message in all caps.

_LOVE IT!!!!! GOOD LUCK MISS YOU ALLLLL!!!!!_

“He likes it,” Louis announces to the table, smiling at the string of heart eye emojis that Harry sends next. Fine. The hardship it took to capture the photo was worth it.

Lectures are done for the term but Louis, Niall, and Liam are staying in London through the weekend. Louis has finally recovered from his cold and that paired with the fact that they’ve made it through another term are cause for celebration. They’ve devised the perfect plan: pub crawl after trivia, followed by day drinking and video games on Saturday. They’re thinking they’ll sleep it all off before heading their separate ways on Sunday for the Christmas holiday.

In Louis’ mind, he’d just naturally pictured Harry being there as well. He’s part of their group now, one of the lads, and celebrating as a foursome seemed the perfect way to wind things down until the New Year. So when Harry mentioned over tea on Tuesday that he was planning on heading home Wednesday afternoon, it took everything within Louis to hide his disappointment, the sinking sensation heavy in his chest.

Harry’s just spent his first few homesick months away from his family, Louis knows, so it’s natural he was looking forward to heading home. Even Louis is feeling ready to bid London goodbye for a few days to enjoy the comforts only Doncaster can bring. He just hadn’t realised Harry was so desperate to leave that he basically bolted as soon as his last lecture was through. Louis thought he’d helped Harry get to the point where he was enjoying London enough to want to stick around for an extra day or two.

It’s fine, though. Harry can enjoy his extra time at home, and Louis will live it up with Niall and Liam. He’ll enjoy the drunken, carefree bliss that comes with the end of a term.

“Louis.” Perrie nudges him again. “Did you hear anything we just said?”

He locks his phone closed with a start, setting it on the table before looking up. “Huh? Sorry.”

Liam cocks his head, his forehead wrinkling as he looks at Louis. “We said we were thinking of going to Gil’s first after we leave here instead of Boar’s Head.”

Louis shrugs. “That’s fine.” Liam’s still staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Liam smiles. “No reason.”

He’s a strange one.

\--

Louis thinks it’s closer to sunrise than sunset by the time they stumble back into their flat. He knows there’s a name for that. Dawn… maybe? No? Whatever. He could ask Liam but he’d probably just laugh.

Their night out had been everything Louis needed. Nick and some of his mates had ended up joining in and Perrie had invited her group of girlfriends along so before they knew it, they’d had a massive group of people causing a ruckus through the streets of London. He hadn’t had a night like that in ages. End of term perfection.

Liam immediately makes his way to the kitchen, pressing a glass of water into Louis’ hand before he’s even managed to toe off his shoes. “Drink this,” he says.

“Always so bossy.”

“You too, Niall.”

“Cheers, mate.” Louis watches the water slosh over Niall’s glass as he waves it in the air before heading toward his bedroom.

“I’m headed to bed,” Liam says. “See you in the morning, yeah?”

Louis gives him a salute. His bedroom sounds like it’s probably really far away. He settles for the couch instead.

He gulps down the water Liam gave him, setting the glass on the table once emptied with a satisfying smack to his lips. It feels a bit warm in here somehow, despite the frigid temperature outside. He shrugs out of his coat, then decides to take it a step further and slips off his shirt as well. He contemplates turning on the telly but pulls out his phone instead. He scrolls through his messages, the text a bit blurry.

He sees a _“Get home safe?”_ from Nick.

 _Yep,_ he types before hitting send.

He sees all of the heart eyes from Harry from before. That was nice.

He’s really glad he met Harry. He should actually thank his mum for that one. If he had skipped lecture, he would have never managed to sign up for Harry’s art project… which means he never would have met him at all. His mum’s a pretty smart woman.

He comes to a sudden realisation as the words 'art project' float through his consciousness. He remembers Harry drawing him in October, of course, and November… but he’s just now realising they completely missed December. _Shit._

Harry’s going to be kicked out of school all because he didn’t draw Louis this month.

It may be dawn or daybreak or whatever, but Louis’ got to figure this out right now. He stands from the couch, holding his phone in his hand as he paces around the room, trying to think.

His first option, obviously, is to leave immediately for Holmes Chapel. For some reason though, that doesn’t strike Louis as too logical. He’s not even sure there are trains at this time and besides, tomorrow is day drinking and video games day.

Harry had told him it’s too hard to draw a subject from memory alone. Louis had asked him one time why he was drawing Louis each month, why he didn’t just draw someone from his family or the like. Harry said he needed someone he knew he could see every month in person so he could be sure to get it right. Fair enough.

For that reason, Harry probably wouldn’t like drawing from a photo either, Louis thinks. But if he can’t see him in person, maybe it’s the next best thing.

Louis will just send Harry a selfie. Bam. Genius.

He’s not much of the solo selfie type generally. It takes him a second to get the camera flipped on his phone and figure out lighting in the dark space. He ends up back on the couch and contemplates his pose. His eyes look a bit bleary when he stares into the camera head on, so he settles on looking slightly off to the side. Seems like something a good model would do, and Louis is essentially Harry’s personal male model after all. His phone screen does an excellent job doubling as a mirror so he can run his fingers through his hair. He thinks leaving his fringe a bit tousled will make for a good look. He’s totally crushing this.

He holds out his arm, blue-steels at the wall, and snaps the image.

Or hits the lock button on his phone. Fucking hell.

Phone freshly unlocked and ready for action, Louis makes sure his finger is hovering over the correct button this time before he poses and takes the photo. It take a few more tries and an insane amount of focus keeping his hand still to get an image that’s not blurred around the edges.

He stares at the last one he takes.

He looks pretty hot.

Honestly, he’s pretty sure if this whole theatre course doesn’t work out for him, he could definitely have a career in modeling.

He sends it to Harry straight away.

Louis muses over the innate sense of satisfaction he feels as he allows himself to sink into the couch. It’s the end of term and yet he’s _still_ thinking about coursework, looking out for Harry to make sure he has what he needs to get his work done. No doubt about it, Louis is _definitely_ a studious second year now. His mum would be proud.

\--

A slamming sound jolts Louis into an upright position. It’s Liam, pounding a glass of water onto the coffee table in front of him.

“Oi!” Louis protests. “Fucking rude, Liam. What’d you do that for?” He attempts to rub the sleep from his eyes. Their living room seems brighter than normal.

Liam just rolls his eyes, which is quite inappropriate for whatever time it must be in the morning. Louis tells him as much.

“It’s one in the afternoon, first of all, not morning. And you were snoring.”

“You snore worse than I do,” Niall says, “and I’ve been told I snore pretty bad.” He’s on the floor in front of the telly, playing FIFA with a beer nestled between his legs.

“Where’s my beer?” Louis says, stifling a yawn. He stretches his arms overhead. “Thought we were day drinking.”

“Niall and I are. You’re the one who’s missing out.”

His friends are being less than kind right now. And after this incredible weekend he’s planned. He disentangles his legs from the blanket wrapped around him to make his way to the loo.

“Get me a beer for when I get back, will you?” he calls from the hallway. No one responds.

He sets his phone at the sink, peering at the screen while he has a wee. There’s a message from Nick.

 _I made it home safely, too,_ it says. _Just in case you were wondering_

Louis can’t remember what he’d said to Nick last.

He unlocks his phone and opens his messages. Nick’s new message sits at the top, followed by a photo message he sent to… Harry?

He opens it quickly, his eyes widening as he looks at the selfie he’d sent him at 4:36 in the morning. Oh.

His memory comes rushing back. He’d convinced himself at the time that he was taking the picture in the name of helping Harry succeed in the world of academia. But now, in the clear hours of morning - er, early afternoon - he sees how sending a shirtless selfie to his mate with no explanation attached may have not been his brightest idea.

_Shit._

Harry hasn’t responded, but he’s surely seen it by now.

Maybe if Louis locks his phone, the photo he sent Harry will magically erase itself from existence. He forces himself to look away, shoving his phone into his pocket once he leaves the loo to wander toward the kitchen. He’ll drink the bloody water Liam’s got waiting for him, but he decides to grab some cereal as well. He waters Fernie while he’s thinking about it too.

“You’re looking brilliant today,” he says to her softly, running his finger over one of her waxy leaves. She’s growing like a weed under Louis’ careful eye. He figures she’s at least grown several inches since he first brought her home months ago.

He’s back in front of the telly in moments, and sets his bowl of Coco Puffs on the table before unlocking his phone again.

He probably needs to text Harry.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard before he stops himself. He’ll eat his cereal first. It’s not that he’s avoiding his unfortunate reality, it’s just that his mum’s always told him it’s best not to make decisions on an empty stomach.

Of course, it’s probably also best not to make decisions when you’re bloody wasted, but his mum never taught him that one. Clearly she’s to blame for this.

Two bites of cereal in he starts pondering if Apple has invented technology yet that allows one to delete a text off someone else’s phone. He thinks he likely would have heard of such an advancement, but it’s not outside of the realm of possibility. Maybe he should just check.

Liam’s staring him down by the time he lets out his third exasperated sigh.

“What are you doing?” he asks. They’ve paused the game while Niall’s grabbing more drinks.

“Ahh… think I might have done something stupid.”

Liam doesn’t seem too fazed by the confession. “What did you do?”  

“Um… well, it probably wasn’t _completely_ stupid. I mean, it wasn’t my most well crafted idea, but it was for his own benefit.”

“Whose benefit?” Liam asks, just as Niall walks in.

“Um, Harry’s?”

“What’s up with Harry?” Niall asks. He’s gnawing on an entire carrot like some kind of ravenous rabbit. Louis didn’t even know they had carrots in their flat. It’s disconcerting.

“Louis did something stupid involving Harry,” Liam says.

“‘Bout time,” Niall shrugs. He settles back onto the floor.

“What in the bloody hell does that mean?”

Niall cranes his neck to pointedly meet Louis’ eyes. “Are we still pretending you aren’t arse over tit for him?”

“What?! No I’m not!” Louis swears the room is spinning, and if Niall doesn’t stop chomping on that _damned_ carrot -

“Niall, stop goading him,” Liam says, standing up from the floor. “Louis, what did you do?” He crosses over to the couch.

“Ugh,” Louis says. He’s kind of wishing he’d never brought it up. “So you know how he’s drawing me every month for his project.”

“Uh huh,” Liam says, urging him to continue. Louis wishes they were still playing FIFA. It would be easier to explain what’s happened if they were at least mildly distracted. Instead they’re staring him down more intensely with each passing second.  

“Well, I realised last night that he never drew me in December, so I was worried about him getting his coursework done.” They’re both still nodding along at this point. He’s not sure what they’ll think about what he needs to tell them next.

“So…?” Liam finally says.

“I’m getting there. Last night I sent him a selfie when we got home. So he’d have something to draw from.”

Neither one of them responds right away, almost like they’re waiting for Louis to say more. Eventually, Niall shrugs. “That’s it?”

“Well, ah. Sort of.” The next time Liam or Niall want to tell him something, he’s going to make sure he stares at them without blinking, so they can see how it feels. “I guess, um, hypothetically… is it strange to send a shirtless selfie to a mate in the middle of the night with no explanation?” He gets the rest out in a rush.

Niall lets out a gasp before he collapses into a laughing fit. His face is turning red and he’s slapping his hands against his thighs as he begins to cry out, each word punctuated by a sharp laugh. He’s almost unintelligible. “You sent him a sexy selfie?!”

“It wasn’t meant to be sexy, necessarily.” Louis says, going on the defensive. “I mean, I was kind of posing, I guess. But only so he could have a good image to draw from.”

Liam’s been silent as his side, but suddenly makes a move for Louis’ phone. “Let’s see it.” He grabs the mobile before Louis can stop him.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“If you don’t want _us_ to see it,” Liam says, unlocking the phone, “then it’s probably sexy.”

“Whatever, it’s fine. Just look at it.”

Niall’s at Liam’s side now, hooking his chin over Liam’s shoulder as they both peer at Louis’ phone.

Their eyebrows shoot up in unison once they apparently find the photo.

Louis cringes. “It is bad?”

“Um…” Liam starts, before trailing off. His eyes haven’t left the phone.

“I think you look hot, Lou. Well done. Don’t think I could pull that off after a night of drinking.” Niall pats him on the head before heading in the direction of the kitchen.

Liam still hasn’t said a word. He can be quiet at times, but solving problems like this one is kind of his speciality. Must be the scientist in him, Louis’ always figured. Present him with a problem and he talks it through until he’s found a solution. His silence right now is equal parts eerie and worrying.

Louis nudges him. “Liam?”

Liam slowly puts the phone down before turning to face Louis. Another beat passes, then he finally speaks.

“Why would you send him that?”

“For his art assignment,” Louis says.

Liam purses his lips, waiting for Louis to say more. He doesn’t look like he’s buying it.

“What? I wasn’t in my best mind, obviously. But is it strange that he hasn’t replied? Like, he must have seen it by now, right? Do I text him to explain? Apologise?”

Liam exhales before speaking. He parses his words together slowly. “If a girl sent me a picture like that with no explanation, I would think she was trying to come on to me.”

Louis shakes his head. “Harry has a boyfriend. You know that.”

“So? Like nobody’s ever tried to flirt with someone who’s already taken?”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Louis means it. He’s not that kind of person. He wouldn’t _think_ of interfering with someone’s relationship.

Except, he realises, his stomach sinking - he _hadn’t_ been thinking when he’d sent that.

 _“Fuck.”_ He grabs his phone, his fingers missing the buttons as he tries to unlock it. “I didn’t mean it like that. He’s going to hate me.” He opens up his messages again before Liam places a hand on his arm.

“Wait. Think this over, yeah? Do you want to give him an explanation, or say you sent it to him by accident?”

Louis ponders his options. The easy way out would be saying he didn’t mean to send it to Harry, but he’d hate to get caught in a lie. Besides, he really had sent it with good intentions, even if it doesn’t seem that way in the light of day. He sighs. “An explanation, I guess. What should I say?”

They take a few minutes to craft a perfectly worded message. Liam’s eyebrows furrow more than ever as he brainstorms, and even Niall’s shouting suggestions their way from the kitchen.

In the end, they decide to keep it simple. Liam’s theory is that by striving for a nonchalant tone, it will seem like Louis didn’t mean for it to be a big deal, which should in turn make Harry feel the same way.

_That selfie is for your December drawing. Can’t have you failing uni! :)_

Louis hovers over the message for a moment before he hits send. He watches his phone, as if Harry’s going to immediately send a reply after sitting on his first message for the better part of a day.

“Snacks, boys,” Niall says. He hands Louis a much-needed beer and sets some crisps on the table. “Making cheese toasties too.” He’s back in the kitchen before Louis has a chance to reply.

“Louis?” Liam says. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch since Louis sent the message.

“Huh?”

“You like him, don’t you?”

Louis doesn’t say anything. The answer pops into his head immediately, but he’s spent days forcing himself not to let the thought fully enter his mind. He likes Harry. As in, _likes_ likes him. Which is both stupid and ridiculous, because Harry’s totally taken and Louis’ focus this year is supposed to be on his course regardless, not on some first year art student. Even if he is funny and kind and has the most gorgeous dimpled smile Louis has ever seen. Even if he has transformed from a shy, unsure kid to an integral part of Louis’ core friendship group in a matter of months. They’d been on their way home from trivia a couple of weeks ago and Niall had randomly declared that Harry was officially adopted into their circle of friends. Harry had blushed and looked to Louis and in that moment Louis could have sworn he felt his heart do some kind of weird bumpy flip in his chest. At the time, he had written it off as his perfectly healthy heart deciding to have a random palpitation, even though on some level he knew it back then, and he definitely knows now.

So yeah, he likes Harry. And it completely sucks.

“Louis.” Liam’s nudging his side gently.

Louis can’t help but sigh. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? ‘s not like there’s anything I can do about it.”

There are moments Louis almost starts to think that maybe Harry feels the same way. He always wants to sit by Louis at trivia and he doesn’t go out for tea after lectures with Liam or Niall or anyone else that Louis’ aware of. They have the most ridiculous text conversation going back and forth between the two of them most days, and Louis can make Harry laugh so hard his eyes start to brim with happy tears. Sometimes he’ll catch Harry smiling at him softly when they’re out with friends, and Louis could swear it’s different than the way he looks at anyone else. But then Harry’s phone will ping with a message from the person who really holds his affection and his attention is gone, the universe serving Louis a harsh reminder that Harry’s nothing more than a friend.

“Maybe you can’t do anything,” Liam says, agreeing, “but it probably doesn’t hurt to let your flatmates know, right? You can always talk to us about how you’re feeling.”

Louis shrugs. “Talking about it won’t make a difference.”

“I’m just saying, if you _need_ to talk… you know.”

“Yeah.”

Niall shouts out for help from the kitchen and Liam moves quickly from the couch, their conversation effectively over. Louis sighs again, peering at his phone. No response.

It’s nearly midnight before a message comes through. Louis’ the last one still awake, Niall and Liam having gone to bed early since they all have trains to catch in the morning. They’d tried to make the most of their last day in the flat until the New Year, but Louis could feel them both coddling him. He’s pretty sure Niall threw a FIFA match as an attempt at making him feel better. He’d tried his best to pull it together for a day of drinking and relaxing with his two best mates, but he knows he hadn’t been fully himself.

He’s throwing shit into his luggage in his bedroom, attempting to get an early start on packing, when his phone pings. He nearly throws himself across the room to get to it. There had been a couple of false alarms earlier in the day - a text from his mum, another one from bloody Nick - and each time he’d had to shake his head in Liam’s direction.

But this time, Harry’s finally responded.

_Oh, cool. Thanks!!_

He reads over it a few times, contemplating if it’s worth waking up Liam to help him analyse. Probably not. Liam’s adamant about getting proper sleep before travelling, even if it is just a few hours by train.

Harry’s tone doesn’t seem angry, not that Louis can truly grasp his tone in a text message. But there are exclamation points there, which generally seem to carry positive intent. The reply is a bit short, Louis thinks, especially considering Harry hasn’t really texted him since he’s left, but he’s probably busy catching up with people back home. It just feels a bit impersonal maybe, overall.

Louis thinks about writing back but quickly decides against it. The last time he sent a text after midnight didn’t turn out so well for him. He shuts his phone down completely in an effort to resist temptation before he returns to cramming half his wardrobe into his small suitcase.

Harry texted back, which was what he wanted. So why doesn’t he feel any better?

\--

Louis wakes to a small hand patting at his face. He pretends to sleep through it at first but eventually has to hold back the laughter bubbling up inside of him as the patting grows more insistent. “Woo-ee,” a small voice says, tugging at the duvet tucked around his shoulders. “Woo-ee.”

He waits a moment longer before he throws the blanket off, grabbing Doris and swooping her into a hug as she squeals.

“What time is it, love?” he says, her squeals only amplifying once he starts to tickle her. She kicks against him, jabbing him in the stomach. _Ouch._ Toddlers are ruthless.

“There’s no sleeping the day away around here,” he hears his mum say. She walks into the room with a smile, sitting in the worn armchair across the small sitting room. “Always a little one awake and ready to play. Come here, baby,” she says, holding her arms out to Doris. She runs over excitedly, giggling as she crawls into Jay’s lap.

Louis looks at his phone, groaning when he sees the time. It’s seven in the morning. He’s not sure of the last time he found himself awake this early. University lectures thankfully don’t start until nine or later, almost like the professors know they’d be droning on to an empty hall if they tried to schedule them any earlier.

“Did the couch work okay, love?” Jay asks.

“Think so.” Louis stands, stretching his back until it cracks and throwing on the jumper he’d left on the floor. He’d thought to keep his trackpants on the night before, knowing there’s not much privacy in the Tomlinson-Deakin household. It’s a fact that’s only amplified on this visit home since he’s sleeping on the couch.

His mum had fretted away over the sleeping situation from the moment he’d walked in the door the afternoon prior. She’d kept his childhood bedroom empty for him through his first summer home from uni, the baby twins sleeping in their cribs in her and Dan’s room. They’re big now though, nearing two years old and in dire need of space of their own. Louis had insisted his mum move them into his room when he’d left for second year, which had led to a massive reshuffling. Lottie and Fizzy had argued it was only fair, as the eldest two, that they get Louis’ room. Of course Daisy and Phoebe had then decided they wanted a change of scenery as well. Hopefully it hadn’t been too much work for his mum and Dan. He thinks it’s for the best for them to all be a bit more spread out. Living in tight quarters with a large family can be a challenge - something he’s learned firsthand.

He misses it when he’s not here, though. He wouldn’t call it homesickness necessarily, since he’s never been like Liam in that way. It’s just - he loves his family. His sisters and his sole brother and his beautiful mum; even his stepdad is a good man. He loves his life in London and knows it’s where he’s supposed to be but his periodic visits home make him realise how much he misses out on when he’s gone. It’s hard to feel your heart being pulled so strongly in two different directions.  

“We could take turns on the couch, I think. Rotate the girls through?” Doris has become occupied sorting the presents around the tree while Jay busies herself folding up Louis’ duvet.

“Don’t be silly, mum. I’m fine with sleeping on the couch.”

She brings a hand to his cheek, patting it softly. “You’re sweet. And I’m really proud of you, you know. For how well you’ve done this term.”

Louis smiles. “You might have mentioned it a time or two.” She actually hasn’t stopped praising him since he arrived home, but he doesn’t mind. Again, he would never tell Liam, but he’s a mummy’s boy through and through.

“I feel like I had to give you some tough love at the start of term, didn’t I? I’m making up for it now, though. Don’t like having to be a hard arse with you.” She runs her hand through his hair. “Good to have you home, poppet. Even if it is only for a little while.”

He showers quickly, Fizzy banging on the door complaining that it’s her turn. His next stop is the kitchen, where he finds his favourite mug waiting for him. He prepares his tea and sets it on the table along with his phone.

Lottie’s sat at the table with a portable mirror, lining her eyes with a jet black pencil. Louis’ not sure when his sister became old enough for makeup, or when his mum gave her the go ahead to turn their kitchen table into a makeup space. Life with teenage girls.

He kisses her on the head, laughing to himself as she immediately runs her fingers through the spot in her hair. He sets out to scrounge through their cereal cupboard, only to find an unopened box of Coco Puffs sat front and centre. His mum is the best.

The unmistakable ping of his phone catches his attention. Only his family is crazy enough to text him this early, and they’re all here…

Lottie peers at it from the corner of her eye, smirking as she looks to him.

“Who’s Harry?” she asks.

His stomach does a flip. “No one,” Louis says, trying to play it cool as he puts the milk away. Running to snatch his phone would only clue Lottie in to asking more questions.

“He wants our address. Do you have a stalker or something?”

“Huh?” He throws his attempt at playing it off aside and practically chucks his bowl onto the table, grabbing his phone from Lottie’s hands. “Is there no such thing as privacy around here? If I read your texts, ‘m pretty sure you’d have my head.”

She sticks her tongue out at him before leaving the room.

 _Hey,_ Harry’s message reads. _Was hoping I could get your mum’s address?_

A second message comes through.

_Just to send you something for your bday :)_

Oh, Louis thinks, that’s nice. It’s also a bit of a relief that Harry’s reaching out to him.

They haven’t texted since their awkward exchange following Louis’ selfie two days ago. Louis had thought about sending Harry messages documenting his train trip or quotes of funny things his sisters have said since he’s been home, but he worried it would feel forced. Harry’s last message had seemed friendly enough, but also wasn’t exactly welcoming further conversation.

He texts back his address straightaway, then decides to try to keep the conversation going.

_You having a nice time at home? My baby sister woke me up at 7 this mrng :p_

Harry’s reply comes quickly. _It’s been good, yeah. Actually missing London though!_

Louis reads the message twice over, his face breaking into a smile. Harry misses London, and that’s got to include Louis in some capacity.

Louis has missed him too.

“Do you always smile at inanimate objects while you take your tea?”

His mum apparently tiptoed her way into the kitchen, not a floorboard creak to be heard. Louis locks his phone quickly and sets it on the table, taking a rushed sip of too-hot tea. He grimaces as he forces himself to swallow it down.

“Anything you’d like to share with your mum?” She sets a plate in the sink before grabbing a towel.

“Um… tea’s good.” Louis says.

Jay smacks him with the towel as she passes by.

\--

There’s a flurry of activity in the Tomlinson-Deakin household when the doorbell unexpectedly rings in the late afternoon on the twenty third of December.

Phoebe and Daisy are fighting over who gets to answer it before Jay dashes into the room with a toddler on each hip, reminding them they’re not to answer the door alone if they’re not expecting a visitor.

Louis decides to sit this one out. He’s been helping his mum out loads this week, keeping the babies busy while she makes cookies and finishes her holiday shopping. But she’s used to managing two sets of twins without him here, and his current spot on the couch is quite comfortable, so he continues to flip through channels on the telly. Not that there’s anything enticing to watch. It’s just Christmas special after predictable Christmas special for the next few days. They all start to feel the same after a while.

Phoebe comes running into the sitting room, breathless and waving a parcel in the air.

“It’s for you, Lou!” she shouts, Daisy hot on her heels. She drops a sturdy cardboard envelope into Louis’ lap. “Open it!”

The chaos has managed to attract the rest of the clan. Lottie and Fizzy were already spread across the carpeted floor, but now they’ve managed to tear their eyes away from their phones long enough to look his way. Even Jay and Dan are leaning up against the wall in the hallway. It’s close enough to Christmas Day that no one has anything better to do than breathe down Louis’ neck, apparently. At least Doris and Ernest aren’t eyeing his mysterious envelope. They’re more interested in wreaking havoc on the pile of gifts under the tree.

He glances at the envelope curiously before he sees the return address. _H Styles._

It must be his gift from Harry.

He’d spent his week wondering what Harry could possibly be sending him. Louis doesn’t usually exchange birthday gifts with his mates. Liam and Niall had paid for his drinks at their pub crawl before winter holiday, save for the fruit drink that Nick had thrust upon him on their last stop. That had been considered his birthday gift and celebratory night out all rolled into one.

The envelope is flat, a severe red stamp across the front reading _DO NOT BEND!_ It’s large enough to fit an unfolded sheet of paper, the type of envelope one might use to send a legal document or the like. Louis’ a bit stumped as to what it could possibly hold. Perhaps a card?

He’s been texting with Harry periodically back and forth, exchanging updates on life at home, but Louis hasn’t pressed him about the gift. He figured he’d learn what it was eventually.

“Louis, what is it?!” The older twins are impatient, bouncing on the balls of their feet, each time inching closer and closer into his personal space. He remembers being eight years old and excited at the prospect of a piece of mail addressed specifically to him.

“Uh, it’s a gift.”

“Is that from grandad, dear?” his mum asks. “He mentioned sending you something by mail.”

Louis clears his throat. “No. It’s just from a friend at uni.”

“Open it!” Daisy and Phoebe say in unison.

“‘s not my birthday yet, is it?” Louis suddenly finds himself craving a moment alone more than he has in his entire week with his family. He’s not sure what Harry might have sent him. It’s likely something harmless, and Louis doubts it’s anything too personal, but he’s still not sure he wants to open it in front of an audience.

“That hasn’t stopped you before,” Jay says. She crosses the room and settles down on the floor by the tree, wrestling Ernest away from the pile of gifts and into her arms. “Opening one gift early won’t hurt. Go on.”

 _Thanks, mum,_ he thinks. He knows she’s as curious as the rest of them about the surprise envelope. She’s probably even _more_ curious to know the identify of the mysterious sender, meddler that she is. She’s definitely playing detective under the guise of letting Louis open a gift a day early. He’s on to her.

He pulls a tab across the envelope, watching the seal separate easily as he opens it from edge to edge. Phoebe and Daisy join him on the couch, pressing up against him and peering over his shoulders as he goes. It takes some effort to pop the sturdy envelope open just enough to take a peek at its contents, without affording the pests at his sides a view.  

“Is it empty or what?” Fizzy says.

“You don’t have to stay here if you’re not interested,” Louis retorts. She rolls her eyes and, as expected, makes no move to leave.

Louis catches sight of a sheet of cream coloured paper, reminiscent of Harry’s sketchpad. There are pencil marks and some text that he tries to make out upside down. The words sound eerily familiar. “It is what it…” _Oh, shit._

“Come on now, Lou, even I’m getting impatient.” His mum’s set Ernest free at this point, but even his rummaging through the Christmas gifts at the tree isn’t managing to distract anyone. “Show us what you’ve got, dear.”

“Um. It’s a picture,” Louis says. “A drawing, really.”

“Of what?!” Phoebe asks. She somehow manages to sound exasperated. At age eight.

“Well. It’s of me.”

Phoebe tries to snatch the cardboard envelope from his hands, Louis pulling it back reflexively. “Careful,” he says. “You don’t want to bend it.” He sighs. There’s no way he’s getting out of this one. “If I pass it around, do you all promise to be careful? No one’s got sticky fingers?” The twins nod enthusiastically.

He swallows before gingerly removing the piece of paper from the envelope.

It’s Harry’s sketch of the selfie Louis had sent him after the pub crawl. It’s the first drawing of him Harry’s let him actually see.

The chatter around the room becomes merely background noise as Louis takes in Harry’s rendering of him. He’s legitimately drawn Louis. It looks like it may have been hastily sketched, dark pencil lines creating shadows, the cursive of his tattoo scrawled on. But he’s somehow captured Louis’ eyes using only pencil. He’s sketched in tousled hair and shaded around Louis’ nose and somehow he’s even managed to draw an ear without it looking like a blobby mess.

Harry is an _artist._ Wow. Louis had figured as much before, if he was good enough to be in an art course in the first place. And his rapid door sketch hanging on the wall in Louis’ flat had been an indication he had talent. But this… this is something else.  

The background of the drawing is a series of severe pencil lines, the darkness reminiscent of the state of Louis’ living room when he had taken the photo. There’s a small section of white off to one side, a single letter written in the space. H.

Louis wants to find his misguided selfie and compare the two images centimetre by centimetre. He wants to know Harry’s method - where he started, how often he looked back at the picture on his phone. How much of Louis he was able to draw from memory. He wants to -

“Eww! Louis’ naked!” Daisy’s squeal snaps him back into reality. She takes off running dramatically across the room.

“Louis!” His mum says, scurrying over to the couch and swiping the drawing from his hands.

“Careful! And I wasn’t naked, mum.”

Jay’s quiet as she scrutinises the drawing before raising an eyebrow in his direction. “Can’t be too sure,” she says. “It’s just the top half here. Who drew this, darling?”

“My friend. Harry.” Lottie and Fizzy are at Jay’s side now. Fizzy’s covered her eyes with her hand, save the small space she’s left between two fingers to take a curious glimpse. He wasn’t _actually_ naked. Jesus.

“And why is your friend drawing you?” Lottie asks, making air quotes on the _friend_ portion of her question. If only she knew.

“He’s an art student. ‘s a project for his class.”

“Uh huh.” He’s not even sure who’s remarking this time, the snark in his eldest sisters’ tones merging with his mum’s. Thank God he only has three members of his family judging him now. Phoebe and Daisy had fled from the room in unison. Doris and Ernest have also disappeared down the hall, Dan likely following them to make sure they aren’t sneaking more Christmas cookies.

He holds his hand out, silently requesting the paper back as his mum turns it over. Leave no inch unturned, apparently.

“Oh,” she says, “he wrote a note.” She’s reading it aloud before Louis can snatch it away. “L, Just so you know I’m not too rubbish at drawing portraits. H.” She pauses. “What does that mean?”

“Well, he’s drawn me before, but hasn’t wanted to show me.” He swears her eyebrows are about to shoot through the roof. “It’s an assignment for uni, mum!”

“Suuure,” Fizzy says, Lottie and his mum both giggling as she draws out the word.

“You lot are worse than a firing squad.” Louis finally regains control of his drawing. He gives it a once over, relieved that no corners are ripped and there are no smudges to be found. “I’m going to find somewhere to put this.”

Finding a safe place for a piece of paper in their house is almost impossible, especially when his “room” is a couch in the middle of the chaos. He ends up tucking it back into the sturdy envelope, which he sticks between a couple of books in his rucksack. He hopes that will keep it out of harm’s way.

What Louis is not safe from, however, is the relentless teasing from his sisters for the remainder of the evening. They’ve even roped his mum in too, and every time someone manages to bring the drawing or Louis’ “special friend” into the conversation, they all collectively dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. He’s never going to live this down.

Honestly, though, he’s not sure he really cares. Ruthless ribbing from his family aside, Harry let Louis see one of his drawings. And it was more than just sharing a glimpse. He’s let Louis have the whole image, as a gift to keep. Louis was pretty certain he’d never get to see what he looked like through Harry’s eyes, but now he has a Harry Styles exclusive portrait to hang on his wall as a permanent keepsake.

It’s late when he pulls the drawing from his rucksack to study it again in the peace and quiet of a sleeping household. His mum had pestered him earlier about being sure to thank his friend for the gift but he’d put it off, telling her he’d wait until he had a moment’s peace. She’d just tsked at him at the time, but she was definitely right. He should reach out to Harry.

He pulls out his phone and composes a text.

_Hey! You sent me a drawing!! It’s seriously incredible.. thank you!!!_

It catches him by surprise when his phone begins to ring, Harry’s name on the screen. He answers quickly.

“Harry?”

“You weren’t supposed to open that until your birthday.”

Louis smiles at the teasing lilt in Harry’s tone. They’ve only sent text messages back and forth since term’s ended, and Louis’ realising why that hasn’t felt the same. He’s missed Harry’s voice. “I’ll have you know,” he replies, “my mum always lets me open one pressie early, so she gave me the go ahead. You’ll have to take it up with her.”

Harry laughs softly. “I may have to do that. So, you really like it?”

“Harry, I love it. You’ve really been holding out of me, you know. If I’d have known you could make me look that good, I might have commissioned you sooner.”

“Well,” Harry says, “you can’t make someone look any better than they already do.”

“So you’re saying I’m a narcissist for thinking that picture makes me look good? That’s no way to talk to the almost birthday boy.”

Louis knows that’s not what Harry was implying in the slightest, but it’s fun to listen to him laugh his way through a denial. After a week of his brilliant jokes being wasted on teenage girls and their sarcastic eye rolls, it’s nice to have Harry as his audience. Louis can always get him giggling.

The conversation flows as they talk about their time at home. Harry’s genuinely interested in hearing about Louis’ siblings and the chaos of the Christmas holiday with so many people under one roof. It sounds drastically different from Harry’s time holiday. He’s essentially been alone with his mum and stepdad, and it sounds like his mum has been completely fussing over him. His sister has popped over on occasion, but she has her own flat now nearby. She hasn’t even decided if she’ll spend the night at his parent’s house on Christmas Eve. 

“It’s funny, you know,” Harry says, “but I actually am missing London. More than I thought I would.”

“Really?” Louis says. Harry had mentioned missing London over a text message before, but to hear him say it out loud just makes it feel like he truly means it.  

“Yeah.” Louis can practically sense Harry running his hands through his hair. It’s something he often does when he’s collecting his thoughts before speaking. “I mean, being at home is great, but London’s started to feel pretty good too, you know? It’s not really home still, but I miss going to lecture and the cafe and trivia and all that.”

Louis’ going to pretend Harry didn’t include lectures in his list of why he’s longing for London. The rest of what he mentioned involves Louis in some way. In essence, Harry is saying he’s missed Louis. It’s a fair leap. Louis’ sitting alone in his family’s darkened living room, the soft white lights on the tree the only source of dim light, and he’s smiling like an absolute loon thinking about Harry missing him. It’s a good thing his nosey sisters are all asleep or he’d never hear the end of it.

“I’m glad to hear you're feeling that way,” he says after a beat. “Means you won’t dread coming back for spring term.”

“I don’t think I will at all. I mean, I’ll miss my mum’s cooking and all that, but…” He trails off. “Sorry, getting another call,” he says, his voice becoming distant. He’s probably moving his face away from the phone to look at the screen.

“Do you need to get it?” Louis doesn’t want to let Harry go yet, but-

“It’s fine.” Harry says. He sighs.

There’s a beat of silence before Harry speaks again.

“That was Jonny on the phone.”

The light, airy feeling that had been occupying Louis’ chest turns into a heavy weight, sinking until it settles at the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t really want to talk about Harry’s boyfriend; in fact, he would much rather pretend he doesn’t exist. It’s what they usually do, their conversations revolving around anything but Harry’s relationship. Perhaps it’s odd given they’re good mates, but Harry doesn’t mention him and Louis doesn’t ask. Louis’ realising now that failing to learn more about Jonny has likely been a subconscious decision to shelter himself. It’s taken him some time to sort out his feelings toward Harry, but on some level it’s like his brain has always known not to call to mind that piece of Harry’s life more than necessary.

Harry’s bringing it up now though, so apparently there’s something he wants to share.

Louis clears his throat. “You’re not with him for the holiday?”

“Funny you should ask.” Harry’s tone is completely void of the warmth that usually comes wrapped around it.

“Oh?” Louis senses there’s trouble in paradise. There’s a side of him that wants to know more, and another side of him that’s feels like he should tread carefully.

“He’s at his grandparents’ a few hours away. Was miffed when I said I didn’t want to come. I want to spend the holiday with my family, you know? But he’s making me feel like shit about not going with him instead.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” Louis says. _He sounds awful,_ a tiny voice in his head is whispering. He holds back the urge to share that judgment with Harry.

“I know. Do you know what he said to me before he left?” He doesn’t even give Louis a chance to respond before he continues. “He said I’m the one who decided to move away so I should be making more of an effort to spend time with him while I’m on holiday.”

He finally pauses, clearly waiting for Louis to react. Louis feels like he’s on uneasy ground. On one hand, he’s kind of excellent at trashing shitty boyfriends. Perrie’s dated a few questionable men in her day and the second she starts to complain he’s more than willing to chime in with his two cents. He’s met Perrie’s former flames though, and they were all legitimately awful. Louis has never met Harry’s boyfriend. He’s almost positive he wouldn’t like him, but a big part of that is just due to the fact that he’s dating Harry. Perhaps he’s genuinely a good person, and they’re just having a fleeting rough patch.

“That sucks,” Louis finally offers. It’s slightly supportive but also shouldn’t goad Harry on too much.

“I know! Do you know he’s never once come to visit in London? Didn’t even make the trip down with my parents when I moved. I mean, I never expected him to move down here. I knew he’d start working for his dad the second we finished sixth form. But he can’t even manage to come visit one bloody time?!”

Harry sounds almost breathless by the time he finishes his rant. Louis can’t remember ever hearing him come so close to yelling.

“I’m really sorry, Harry. That’s frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. Louis can hear Harry’s breath steadying through the phone. Maybe he’s gotten it all off his chest. He sighs into the phone again before speaking. “He’s calling again.”

Louis frowns. “Maybe I should let you go.”

“In a minute.”

“Okay.”

Louis pulls his duvet over his shoulders, the warmth instantly enveloping him as he listens to the quiet drone of their phone connection. Harry’s still there, he can tell, can hear him sniffling softly from the other end of the line. The silence feels okay, though. They don’t need to make small talk.

“Sorry for getting a bit amped up there,” Harry says eventually, softly.

“‘s okay.”

“I mean, thanks for listening. I really do love him. He’s been my best friend for years. It’s just… hard. Being apart. We’d thought that maybe being _together_ together would help that. Like, in a relationship as opposed to just a friendship, you know. But, anyway… I should stop talking.”

Louis’ about to be a supportive friend, and to tell Harry he can talk to him about anything, anytime. But he’s just not sure that’s the truth this time around. He’s not sure if he can handle listening to Harry try to talk out his frustrations about a man he loves. Just hearing Harry use the word “love” about somebody else hurts. The more he has to hear about Jonny, the more he feels his own heart sinking. He’s got to protect himself, even if that means not giving Harry all of what he needs.

“I really did love the drawing, Harry,” Louis settles on saying eventually. It doesn’t quite feel right to not offer him more, but he just doesn’t know.

“I’m glad. Thanks for the inspiration.”

A sudden question pops into Louis’ brain. “Wait a minute,” he says, “what about your December drawing though? I sent you that photo for your assignment, remember? So did you draw it twice, or…?”

“Ahh…” Harry pauses. “I already had a drawing for December.”

“Huh? From when?” Louis would have remembered Harry drawing him.

“Umm… remember when you were feeling poorly?”

Louis thinks back to their time spent playing FIFA and eating soup on the couch. “Yeah?”

“Well, you fell asleep before I left and I had my sketchpad with me so I just… drew you.”

It takes Louis a second to connect the dots. “Wait. You drew me while I was sleeping?”

Harry’s nervous laughter serves as a response.

“Harry,” Louis says, chuckling softly. “That’s a bit creepy.”

Harry groans. “I knowwww. I’m sorry. It was just… you were finally completely still and quiet for once. Probably the easiest portrait of you I’ve ever done.”

“Hey,” Louis protests, but he’s knows it must be true. And for some reason, the fact that Harry drew him while he slept doesn’t actually bother him much at all. It would probably sound creepy to anyone else, so he’s definitely not planning on sharing this tidbit with his mates or his mum and sisters, but Harry drawing him that way is perfectly fine with him. “You were planning on letting me know at some point, right? I mean, you knew I’d find out about it eventually. Like, at the exhibition?”

“Ah. I guess I hadn’t completely thought it through,” Harry admits. “I can bin it, if you want. Use the selfie you sent me instead.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, pretending to consider the options. “Do I look as good in the sleeping portrait as I do in the one you sent? I am a narcissist, you know.”

Harry’s laughter now sounds less strained. “I’d say you look good in both of them.”

“Then I suppose it can stand.”

They both laugh softly at Louis’ decree, until Harry says the inevitable.

“I should probably go.”

Louis holds back his disappointed sigh. “I know.”

“I hope you truly have a happy birthday, Lou. And Christmas, too. And, uh, thanks for listening.”

Louis picks at a loose thread on his duvet. “Thank you, Harry. And, of course.” _Louis Tomlinson,_ he thinks. _Art inspiration, listener of boyfriend-related complaints, and friend._ Nothing more.

He spends more than a few moments staring at his portrait when he hangs up the phone.

\--

**JANUARY**

“Harry,” Louis pouts, “it’s not a party if you’re gonna sit there all bloody night.”

Harry’s lips are pursed in concentration. “I’m almost done. Would be faster if you could just stand still for two seconds.”

“Impossible.” Louis takes a sip from his pink curly straw as a techno track pounds through the room. “Not when the drinks are flowing and the music’s this good.”

Harry shakes his head but he’s smiling. He’s not mad.

Harry’s text had woken him up that morning, but it had been a nice surprise. Louis had stared at the picture in a sleep muddled confusion for a full minute before texting him back. _Are you on the train?!_

Harry’s original plan had been to return to London on Sunday night, giving himself just enough time to get situated before the start of spring term. He’d changed his mind at the last minute though, catching a Saturday morning train so he could make the annual LGBTQ society’s New Year’s bash.

It’s a bit silly, really, to celebrate the New Year nearly a week after it’s already passed. It’s made even more ridiculous by this year’s theme, Tropicana, which apparently means showing up wearing something beachy looking while pretending it’s not actually the dead of winter. At least Nick’s friend has an in with a bartender who was able to reserve them the top floor of a club for the evening. Last year the party had been outside. Not Louis’ idea of a good time in January.

Louis’ really quite lucky to have Harry as a mate for an affair like this. He hadn’t known Harry had a thing for Hawaiian shirts. Apparently since he hasn’t spent time with him in the summer, he has yet to see tropical Harry in full force. But he’d shown up at Louis’ door that afternoon with a bag full of silky, colourful button-ups, ready to lend Louis whichever one caught his eye. Louis had settled for a white one littered with palm trees. Harry’s pick was a complementary blue number, its green palms scattered between volcanoes. Louis’ wearing a pair of ridiculous 2018 light up glasses his mum had bought the girls for their New Year’s celebration back home and they, along with everyone else, were lei’d by Nick on their way in - something he isn’t letting people forget.

They’re looking tacky as could be and it’s going to be a brilliant night.

Harry’d insisted on bringing his sketchpad, wanting to make sure he got his drawing of Louis in before the month gets away from them. He’s definitely quicker now, Louis’ noticed, doesn’t seem to need as much time to study his face or decide how to get started. Harry drawing Louis has become a routine they share, and over the months it’s moved from being stilted and awkward to strangely comfortable. Louis’ doing his thing - he’s swaying to the ever-changing music, taking intermittent sips of his blended tropical drink, and chatting with friends he hasn’t seen since before the holidays. All the while he’s acutely aware that Harry’s continuing to immortalise him on paper. It feels natural.

“Louis,” Harry says, once Marco from the society says goodbye to head to the bar, “turn this way just a bit. Please.”

“Of course,” Louis turns to face Harry dead on. “I’ll sit for a minute, actually.” He takes a seat on the hightop stool across from Harry. “Don’t want to dance myself out too quickly.”

Harry smiles. “Almost done. I swear.”

“Take your time, H. No rush.”

Louis taps his fingers against the table in time with the music as he continues to face Harry. Harry’s head is bowed now, his pencil making long strokes across the page. He’s got his sketchpad angled in such a way that Louis can’t make out what he’s doing. Apparently he’s still not going to let Louis watch him in action, even after giving him one of his December drawings.

They’d taken to sending text messages almost non-stop during the rest of the winter holiday after their phone conversation on Louis’ birthday eve. The back-and-forth conversation wasn’t anything life-altering, but it had felt nice to exchange funny stories from their time at home. Harry’s stepdad had brought home mistletoe on Christmas Eve, and apparently his parents had been so disgusting from that moment on that Harry had stayed at his sister’s place in protest until they threw it out. Doris and Ernest, meanwhile, had fallen victim to the cold going around, so Louis had spent the days after Christmas wiping tiny noses and helping his mum dole out medicine. It was strange to see the babies feeling so poorly, dissolving into whimpers and cries every time they coughed. But it had also slowed them down enough that Louis had finally had the opportunity for a proper cuddle, something he didn’t mind at all. Plus Harry had seemed smitten by all the selfies he’d sent with sleeping two-year-olds lying against his chest.

Harry hasn’t brought up Jonny again, and Louis hasn’t asked. He’s also continuously shut down any attempts his mum or sisters have made to bring up his “special artist friend” - their words, not his. During his days at home, Louis came to the conclusion that in order to stay friends with Harry while also maintaining his sanity, it was best to do two things. First, he’s not going to initiate any conversations about Harry’s boyfriend. If Harry brings him up he’ll reply somehow, but otherwise talking about Jonny is going to be off-limits. Not only was it hard for Louis to remain subjective the last time Harry spoke of him, but thinking about Jonny only serves as a reminder that Harry is very much taken, and that’s not something Louis needs. Second, he’s not going to let anyone know he has feelings for Harry. It’s a bit too late for Liam and Niall, but letting others in on his little secret is only going to increase the chance that Harry catches wind of it, which is exactly what he doesn’t want.

He’s not going to risk losing his friendship with Harry over his stupid feelings for him.

This is the part where his mum would tell him that no feelings are stupid, but he’s refusing to let himself think that way.  

“Can I try yours?” Louis asks, motioning toward Harry’s drink. Louis had chosen the pink one, and while it’s good, it’s almost overly sweet. Harry nods, distracted, as Louis takes a sip of the piña colada through Harry’s straw. “Yum,” he says, “should’ve gone with the piña.”

“You can have it if you want,” Harry says, his eyes still on his paper.

“Plenty of time for me to get my own later. You drink it.”

Harry nods absentmindedly.

“Hello, lads!” Nick calls as he stumbles into their space. He’s wearing a faded white t-shirt that says _Visit Costa Rica_ across the front. His straw brimmed hat and sunscreen-slathered nose complete his middle-aged tourist look. “Enjoying yourselves? Was getting lei’d by yours truly the best part?”

“Eh,” Louis replies, “‘s not like it was the first time.” Nick starts cackling at that, goading Louis into laughing as well.

Harry’s dead silent across the table. His concentration is laser-focused on his sketchpad, the wrinkle lines in his brow even more pronounced than usual.

“You doing coursework at a party, Harry?” Nick asks, coming to sit at his side. “Surely you don’t have anything due straight away?”

“Not right away, no. Just trying to keep on top of things.”

Nick looks over his shoulder, his head darting back and forth between Louis and the drawing. “That looks pretty good. I think his grin looks a bit more dopey in really life, but-”

“Hey,” Louis whines. “Why does Nick get to see and I don’t?”

Harry shrugs. “Just how it is. And… I’m finished.” He closes the sketchpad with a satisfying slap, smiling. “Finally.”

“Good, good. Now no more coursework, Harry,” Nick says. “Tell us about your holiday.”

Harry begins to recount his time spent with family, catching up with old mates, and eating his weight in home cooked meals. It’s a surface level retell, one that doesn’t even come close to the funny stories he’s texted Louis. He also omits any mention of Jonny and the tension they’d experienced during his time back home. It’s the type of holiday summary you would give to an acquaintance or a distant friend. Not to a close one, like Louis.

Nick starts whinging on about being separated from his new boyfriend for the holiday. He’s dating some businessman he met at a pub a few months back, who’s practically ancient at age 28. Nick’s new man is supposedly skiing with his family this week, hence his absence from the New Year’s party, but Louis’ set on insisting that Nick’s made him up. Nick just rolls his eyes and laughs. He knows when Louis teases it’s all in good fun.

Nick stands to excuse himself eventually, claiming that as society president, he should keep making the rounds. He snags Louis’ nearly empty drink before he goes. “Harry,” he says, “will you draw me at some point? You’re pretty good.”

“Uh.” Harry wavers. “Sure.”

Louis chimes in. “Actually, Grimmy, Harry draws me exclusively. You can just move right along now. Go on, shoo.”

“Possessive much?” Nick says. Louis knows he’s joking, but he can’t help but gasp before strongly denying any ounce of possessiveness. Perhaps a bit too strongly, if the way Nick’s face changes to one of amused confusion is any indication. “Anyway,” Nick says, winking at Louis before he goes. “You two have a nice night.”

“I wouldn’t mind drawing him,” Harry says once they’re alone again. “Might be nice to branch out a bit. Dunno.”

“It‘s up to you,” Louis says. “You just might end up being asked by half the society is all. You could always charge a fee, I guess. To anyone who isn’t me.”

Harry laughs. “Except you, right.”

It’s fine if Harry wants to draw other people, of course it is. Louis can’t explain the sudden edge of jealousy he’d felt when Nick asked and Harry agreed. It’s like there's an intimacy to it, for him, being studied and drawn by Harry, and the thought of other people getting to experience that causes a lump to form in his throat. But that’s just because his stupid feelings are once again overriding everything. Most people would probably be able to sit through being drawn by Harry without developing a crush on him by the end.

A loud cheer sounds out from a corner of the club. They both glance toward the source of excitement, but the dim lights make it impossible to see what’s going on. Just their fellow uni students letting loose, probably.

“Hey,” Harry says, Louis turning his attention back to him. “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

Louis pauses. “Uh… don’t have one?”

“You don’t? I think they’re fun to come up with.”

“Meh,” Louis says, “isn’t there all sorts of research out there that says nobody actually sticks to a resolution?”

“So? It’s nice to set goals. Wanna hear mine?”

Louis smiles. “Sure. Is it… to achieve world peace? Solve world hunger? Something else lofty?”

“Not quite,” Harry says. He’s smiling as he rubs his nose. “It was actually inspired a bit… uh, by you.”

“By me? How so?” _Now_ Louis’ interest is piqued.

“It’s to try to make the best of my time in London. You know, make some more friends, try some new things. Enjoy myself, I guess. This is my home, at least for now, and I want to make the most of it.”

Louis’ speechless for a moment. He settles for holding up his hand in the air, Harry laughing before giving him a high five. “I knew I was a good motivator,” Louis says. “That’s awesome, honestly. Okay, okay, if yours is to live a little more… mine is to keep up with coursework like I did last term. What do you think?”

Harry nods. “That’s a good one.”

Louis’ phone buzzes in his hands, startling him as he looks down at the screen. _So… Harry then?_ the message reads, accompanied by a winking emoji. Fucking Nick Grimshaw. He turns around, hoping to flip him off, but he can’t manage to catch sight of him. Later, then.

“All good?” Harry asks. Louis nods, locking his phone quickly in the hopes that Harry didn’t somehow catch sight of the screen from the other side of the table.

“Just Grimmy being a wanker. Should we get more fruity drinks? I’m getting the piña colada this time.” Harry throws his coat over his sketchpad for apparent safekeeping before they head in unison to the bar.

Louis can’t help but give himself a mental pat-on-the-back as they walk. Harry’s actually heeding his advice about enjoying life, just like Liam did last year. Louis may mess around a lot and isn’t necessarily known for taking things as seriously as he should, but he’s truly helping people. Helping his friends. Helping Harry. That has to count for something.

“So you and Nick really dated?” Harry says suddenly. He’s got his hands shoved in the too-small pockets of his tight black jeans, his arm brushing Louis’ as they squeeze through the packed floor of the club.

“Yeah. You knew that already though, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did. It’s just… you seem like such good friends.” They wriggle their way into an empty spot at the bar. The bartender’s all the way at the other end.

“So?” Louis says. “We’ve always been that way.”

“Well, yeah, I just…” Harry’s eyes sometimes glance upward when he really seems to be trying to think, Louis has noticed, just like they’re doing right now. “It’s strange to me, I guess, that you can still be such good friends. Like, if you didn’t work out as boyfriends and broke up.”

Louis shrugs. “I never really considered not still being his friend. Just because we were a disaster in a relationship doesn’t mean we can’t be good mates.” Harry’s scowl makes him seem unconvinced. “I’m not sure how else to explain it, really. I mean, I know it doesn’t always work out that way, but it did for me and Nick. We tried to push ourselves into being more but realised we were better off as friends. So we still are. Relationships don’t always have to end on bad terms, you know?” He finally catches sight of the bartender, quickly asking for two more piña coladas.

A first year spots Harry and makes his way over to say hello. Louis stands at the periphery of their conversation as they make small talk, gratefully sipping down his drink once it’s ready.

He’s not sure what Harry was trying to get at before, if anything. It’s not weird that he’s managed to maintain a friendship with Nick. Even if Harry seems to think differently.

It’s close to midnight by the time Louis convinces Harry to join him on the dance floor. He’s been telling Louis he can go dance without him, but that wouldn’t be any fun. Harry is his best mate here tonight, and they’ve been separated for nearly a month. Louis wants to spend time with him.

“I’m really not much of a dancer,” Harry whinges as Louis grabs him by the arm, leading him toward an open space.

“No one’s going to notice,” Louis says. “They’re all as drunk as us.”

“I’m not drunk,” Harry says, perfectly timed with a not-so-subtle stumble.

Louis snorts. “Sure.”

Truth is, Louis’ not much of a dancer either. He raises his drink in the air to the beat of the Beach Boys song Nick’s got playing, part of a carefully crafted playlist to match the tropical theme. “Just have fun with it,” Louis says, mouthing along the words to Kokomo. It’s strange he even knows this song, but he’s pretty sure his grandad used to play it when he was growing up. He does his best imitation of a hula dancer, undulating his arms in front of him. That gets Harry smiling and following suit. They finish out the song messily swinging their hips in time with their arms, any semblance of rhythm completely lost as they dissolve into giggles.

Nick’s voice comes through on the microphone as the song fades out. He’s somehow managed to acquire a coconut bra during the night, which he’s got tied over his t-shirt. He looks completely ridiculous. “It’s almost midnight!” he yells. “Countdown from ten starting… now!”

Their group begins to shout out the numbers in unison, the excitement building the closer they get to zero. It’s a ridiculous society tradition, ringing in midnight on a day that’s not actually New Year’s, but Louis finds himself getting caught up in the buzz. He turns to Harry when they reach three. Harry’s chanting along, his smile turning bright when he catches sight of Louis. His cheeks have become progressively pinker as the drinks have flowed throughout the night. He’s beautiful.

Cheers and squeals of Happy New Year break out as they reach one. Harry throws his arms around him in a hug before Louis even has a moment to think. They grip each other tightly, swaying back and forth as their friends around them break out into a slurred karaoke version of Auld Lang Syne. For a moment, Louis feels like he’s got Harry all to himself, his embrace a little bubble separating them from the real world.

Eventually Nick squawks into the microphone, the sound reverberating through the space. It seems to jolt Harry back to reality, his arms quickly slipping from Louis’ shoulders as he turns to face the DJ booth.

“Happy New Year, everyone,” Nick says. “We’ve got the space until one so, party on. This next song one hundred percent counts as being tropical.” Friendly groans fill the space as “Despacito” starts playing. _“What?”_ he can see Nick mouthing as he makes his way from the booth to join the crowd. Nick loves this damn song, Louis knows, and will play it any time he can find an excuse.

Louis nudges Harry’s side. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.” Harry’s concentrating on his drink. He seems intent on finishing it in one go.

Nick bursts into their bubble, grabbing Louis’ hands before he kisses him on each cheek. Louis rolls his eyes but returns the gesture anyway. “Happy 2018, darling,” Nick says, bringing his lips to Louis’ ear. “And keep me posted on whatever this is, yeah?”

Louis winces, hoping Nick’s whisper didn’t carry. So much for not letting anybody else in on his secret crush. “It’s not anything,” he says under his breath. Nick gives him an indignant look before capturing Harry in a one-armed embrace.

They both watch as Nick flits away with a smile, on to the next group of partygoers to share well wishes. People have started dancing again around them, Despacito be damned, but Louis’ drink is empty and he’s not sure he’s feeling it anymore.

“Is it lame that I’m kind of tired?” Harry says suddenly.

Louis shakes his head, relieved they’re on the same wavelength. “Not at all. We can go. Walk back together, yeah?” Harry nods, pointing toward the table where he’d stashed his things before he begins to leave the dance floor.

Louis weasels his way through the crowd toward the exit, turning back to see if he can spot Harry. He watches as Harry grabs his sketchpad, flipping through the pages quickly before catching Louis’ eyes. Harry smiles at him, his eyes widening as he scans the crowd separating them. It may take him a minute to get to the door, especially because he’s too bloody nice to just shove past people without Louis in front of him to part the crowd.

As he watches Harry politely mouth “Excuse me” to each person he passes, Louis thinks he should probably have a second New Year’s resolution. The resolution to be studious is something he absolutely intends to do anyway, and would be a safe one to share if someone asks. But also, he’s resolving to commit to staying Harry’s friend. He likes him, and placing himself in the friend zone hurts like hell, but being Harry’s friend is better than not being anything to Harry at all.

\--

There is nothing good on the telly on a Saturday night. Louis sighs as he gives the channels another go, flipping through reruns and advertisements and absolute rubbish. There’s not even a football game to be found. He’s clearly the only person pathetic enough to be sat at home trying to find something to watch on a prime night out.

He can’t remember the last time he’d decided to stay home alone on a Saturday night. Liam’s on a first date with some girl in his course and Niall’s out with his friends from the Irish student group on campus. Louis could have tagged along - with Niall, most definitely not with Liam - but at the moment he’d thought a quiet night in sounded preferable.

He’s bored out of his mind.

He stands up, shuffling into the kitchen to forage for whatever food Liam last picked up at the market. He hopes Liam’s date is going well. He’d been pretty nervous, asking Louis to help him tie his tie and to make sure his hair was just right. Louis is pretty sure this is the first girl Liam’s asked out since starting uni.

Harry’s likely out on a date of his own as well, Louis figures. He can’t help but think about what Harry may be doing. It had surprised him when he mentioned he was going to Holmes Chapel for the weekend. They’ve only been back in London for three weeks’ time since the winter holiday, hardly long enough to warrant a trip back home. Harry hadn’t given a reason, not that he owed Louis one. It just sucks when he’s not around.

If Harry were here, they could have had a night in together. Or he could have had a fellow Brit on his side for an evening with Niall’s raucous Irish crew. They even could have snuck into the fancy restaurant where Liam had made a reservation to spy on him and his date. Actually, Harry would have never agreed to _that_ one, but still. He could have been doing something besides sitting in his flat in trackies like some loner on a Saturday night.

He trudges back to the couch, a bag of crisps in his hand. His laptop’s teetering on a couch cushion, and for a split second he contemplates opening up a syllabus to start in on some reading for his course. He can’t believe it’s come to this. He’s been keeping up with his lectures just as well as he had in the fall, but revising on a Saturday night is taking things a step too far.

Back to the telly then, he decides, sighing as he takes a weight loss advertisement off mute.

He’s equal parts confused and grateful when he hears a muffled ringing coming from the couch. He’s not sure who’s calling him at this hour. His friends generally text, and it’s too late to be hearing from his mum, but at least whoever it is could potentially give him a reprieve from the mind-numbing boredom he’s experiencing. It takes him a moment to retrieve his phone, settled among the crumbs in the recesses of the couch.

It’s Harry.

He stares at the phone for a split-second, confused. Why is Harry calling him? He doesn’t have time to contemplate, knowing that if he holds off answering any longer, he’s going to miss him.

“Harry?”

Harry’s voice is tinny over the phone. “Louis? Hey.”

“Hi. You alright?” Louis hasn’t heard from him since trivia, and had figured he was likely busy with his family or whoever else. He scrambles to mute the telly.

“Yeah. I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good, yeah.” Louis pauses. It sounds like Harry is in motion, his breath huffing over the phone. “Uh, are you exercising or something?”

“What? Oh, no, just walking home.”

“Cool.” He stretches his legs across the couch cushion, trying to ignore the quickened pace of his heart. He’s still not sure why Harry’s called, but anytime he chooses to reach out makes Louis feel special. Even if it is just as a friend.

Louis can tell Harry’s still on the line, his even breathing coming through. He gives him a beat to start talking. Nothing. Maybe he’s just calling to say hi?

“Things good at home?” Louis asks.

“I broke up with Jonny.”

Louis feels his mouth fall open against his will. He forces himself to hold back an audible gasp.

“Um. What?” he says, his pitch rising as he tries to keep it together. He didn’t see this coming.

“Jonny,” Harry responds, his breath quickening. “I broke up with him. Just now.”

 _Shit._ “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.” There’s a pause, Harry’s voice wavering slightly. “Is that bad?”

Louis considers his reply for a moment, trying to remain objective.

“Ah, don’t think it’s bad. You feel what you feel, right?” Fuck objectivity. Harry is single.

“Right. Okay. Um, I’m not really sure why I called. Guess I just felt like I needed to tell someone, you know?” He’s starting to ramble. Louis can picture his accompanying hand gestures as he speaks. Almost like he’s there, or Harry’s here. He wishes Harry could be here right now.

“Sure, sure,” Louis says, doing his best to keep his tone neutral. “So, you’re really okay, then?”

“I’m okay,” Harry says. “Should probably go, though. I’m home now.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Louis is reluctant to let him go. A ridiculous piece of his brain is shouting that now’s the time to let Harry know how he truly feels, but he shoves that down. “You can call if you need to talk or anything.”

“Thanks.” Louis hears the creak of a door opening through the phone, Harry’s voice changing to a hushed whisper. “Well, uh, have a nice night then. Sorry if I interrupted anything.”

“Not at all,” Louis says, scanning the empty room, the muted telly. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He hangs up the phone, letting it fall onto the couch as he gracelessly flops backward.

Harry is single.

 _Harry_ is _single._

Holy shit.

\--

**FEBRUARY**

“You are literally ridiculous.”

“You’re the ridiculous one for bringing coursework to our pregame.”

Harry smirks, his eyes focused on his sketchpad. He’s been doing that since he started, pretending he’s not amused by Louis’ antics while obviously trying to hold back a smile. It only serves to egg Louis on.

“I love this song!” Louis says, inching up the volume on his phone to full blast as he jumps around the room. Harry hasn’t asked him to quit moving yet, a first during their monthly drawing time. It’s progress, Louis thinks, that Harry’s able to draw him without needing to intensely study his every feature. Maybe Harry’s improving at portrait drawing in general, the whole point of his two term drawing assignment. Or maybe by now he just _knows_ Louis, so he’s developed a sense of comfort in being able to draw him well without really needing to look.

Louis’ been buzzing since the moment Harry walked into his flat. It’s their first night out since Harry’s returned from his trip back home, the first since he’s been single. And it’s his birthday to boot. They’d already been planning a pub night to celebrate, but this changes things.

Louis had talked with Liam after hearing Harry’s breakup news. Liam’s the pragmatic one of their group, clearly, and Louis knew he needed a levelheaded opinion on what his strategy should be for dealing with Harry’s newfound single status. Of course, Liam’s response hadn’t been to throw himself at Harry the moment he returned, but rather to give Harry time to take the lead. It’s reasonable advice, which is exactly what he’d expected to receive. That doesn’t make it easy to put into practice though, especially because Harry’s seemed just fine since he returned to London. They met up at the cafe after lecture on Monday and Wednesday, and Harry was his normal self. He hasn’t seemed the least bit brokenhearted or even affected at all. Not that they’ve talked about his breakup. Their unspoken policy when it comes to all things related to Harry’s love life still seems to be don’t ask, don’t tell.

So, Liam’s said to let Harry be, and Louis totally gets it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t kick his flirty side up at least a notch. He’s got his tightest trousers on tonight and he’s already a couple of beers in, shuffling through a top dance hits playlist on Spotify as he bounces excitedly around the room. He’s not going to come on to Harry - not yet anyway - but he’s also not going to hold back.

“I’m in love with your body,” Louis sings, grabbing at his own arse. Harry rolls his eyes.  

“Yeah, Ed Sheeran!” Niall shouts, making his way into the room managing three beers in his hands. He passes one to Louis and sets a second by Harry. “Looks pretty good, H,” he says, glancing at the drawing, “but is this really how you want to spend your night?”

“Hey now,” Louis butts in. “It’s Harry’s birthday and he can do as he pleases.”

Niall shrugs. “I’m just saying. If it was my birthday I’d want to be in the pub as soon as possible. Not stuck drawing your ugly mug.”

“Oi!” Louis sets down his beer before barrelling toward Niall. They topple over on the couch, Louis pinning him down. Niall, being the champion that he is, manages to keep his beer upright the entire time. Harry doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by their antics, simply holding his sketchpad in the air to keep it out of harm’s way. He’s used to it by now.  

“You guys,” Liam says, entering the room. “Can we turn down the music, please? And why are you on top of each other?! Vanessa will be here any second.”

Louis can tell he’s on the verge of panicking. “No worries, Li,” he says, switching the music on his phone to a low thrum. “We’re just having a bit of fun, is all.”

“I know, it’s just…” Liam’s pacing the room, collecting empty beer bottles as he goes. “I don’t want to scare her away.”

Tonight will be the first night Liam’s introduced them to the elusive Vanessa. He’s taken her out on a few dates, but has yet to bring her back here. It’s almost like he’s embarrassed by his flatmates. Louis can’t imagine why.

“Niall, is that - _blood_ on your shirt?!” Liam asks.

Niall looks down. “Um, don’t recall bleeding.” He rubs at the stain with his fingers before bringing them to his nose. “Oh, right. It’s ketchup.”

Liam jumps when there’s a knock on the door, the beer bottles in his hands clinking together. He looks at Louis. “What do I do?”

“Uh, how about you get the door? And I’ll take these.” He pats Liam on the back before taking the beer bottles. “Go on,” he says, gently prodding him in the direction of their entryway.

Liam’s general state of being is relatively anxious, definitely high-strung, but he might be more nervous tonight than Louis’ ever seen him.

Louis’ back from the kitchen in time to watch Liam nervously walk Vanessa in from the foyer. He has his hand on the small of her back. She’s a pretty girl, with long dark hair and a kind smile accentuated by red lipstick.

“Hello,” Louis says.

“Vanessa, this is my flatmate Louis.” Liam says as they shake hands. “And my other flatmate Niall, and our friend Harry.”

“Lovely to finally meet you,” Louis says, as Niall and Harry wave hello from the couch.

“Can I show you my room?” Liam asks. She nods quietly, and they cross through the living room and down the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them.

“Alright,” Niall says, clapping his hands together as he stands from the couch. “I’m going to change my shirt. We’re leaving soon, yeah?”

“I’d assume so,” Louis says. “Harry? It’s your night.”

Harry nods. “I’ll be ready soon. Yeah.”

Louis takes over Niall’s vacated spot on the couch, letting out a satisfied sigh as he sprawls out. His toes are nearly grazing Harry’s thighs, but he’s careful not to make contact. “Tonight’s going to be awesome,” he says.

Harry’s teeth are running over his bottom lip in concentration. “You seem excited,” he answers, his attention on the page in front of him.

“Definitely. It’s been awhile since I’ve been out on a Thursday night. ‘s gonna be fun.”

Louis props his head up against his hand, giggling to himself as inspiration strikes. “Hey, Harry,” he says, waiting until Harry stops what he’s doing to look up. “Draw me like one of your French girls.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry chucks his pencil at him, forcing Louis to reflexively duck for cover behind his hands. “So lame,” Harry says, an unmistakable flush taking residence on his cheeks.

“You could have taken my eye out!” Louis complains. “I’m keeping this.” He retrieves the pencil from the couch, holding it protectively against his chest.

“You’re exaggerating. And you can keep it, I’ve got more.” Harry leans down to grab an extra pencil from the rucksack at his feet. There’s a beat of silence as Harry starts drawing before he speaks up again. “So you’re a _Titanic_ fan, then?”

“Mmm… “ Louis has to think about it. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen it actually. Everyone knows that line.”

“You’ve never seen it?” Harry’s looking at him incredulously. “It’s a classic.”

“Guess I’ve been deprived.” He begins to thump his stolen pencil against the wooden surface of their coffee table to the tune of the Zedd song coming softly through his phone. Harry’s turned his focus back to his sketchpad, and Liam and Niall are still holed up in their rooms. It’s become oddly quiet, a stark contrast to their usual pregames.

“I’m bored,” Louis says eventually.

“You?” Harry asks. “You’re never bored.”

Louis shrugs. “First time for everything, I guess.” Bored probably isn’t the right way to describe how he’s truly feeling. In reality, he’s pent up, threatening to burst at the potential lingering between him and Harry. They could still remain nothing more than friends, he knows, but he’s got a better chance with him now than he ever did before. None of that is anything Louis can share out loud though, so he keeps tapping Harry’s pencil against the table in an effort to distract himself, his rhythm growing erratic as the Zedd song grows faster.

It seems like Harry’s about to say something. He stops himself, squinting at his paper momentarily before looking back up at Louis. “Here,” he says finally. He flips to a new page in his sketchpad, carefully ripping out a piece. He passes it to Louis. “Draw something, if you’d like. Just please stop tapping.”

“Oooh.” Louis turns the thick piece of blank paper over in his hands. He’s never been much of an artist, but surely he can put something to paper.

Maybe he’ll draw Harry. He looks at him, watches his furrowed brow concentrate on his own work, his hand moving in expert strokes over the page. Louis moves down to the floor, setting his paper on the coffee table. He brings the borrowed pencil to the page, quickly realising he hasn’t the first idea how to get started with a picture of a person. Draw a circle for the face, maybe?

“Uh, H? How would one draw a person, hypothetically?”

“I’m sure you know how to draw a person, Lou,” Harry says, distracted.

“Sure, like a stick figure. But how about a decent face?”

Harry eyes him curiously. “Who are you planning on drawing?”

“No one in particular.”

“Right. Okay, well when you’re just getting started, it helps to section off the page a bit, to make sure you’re getting your proportions right. Here.” He sets his sketchpad on the couch face down then bends over Louis, hastily drawing a grid on Louis’ page.

Louis shudders. “Reminds me of maths class and graphing paper.”

“There is some maths to it, I suppose. Okay, now just… draw, I guess.” Harry’s back to his own page in moments.

“You’re an excellent teacher.”

“Shush,” Harry says. “Trying to finish my own.”

Louis looks at Harry’s face. His face is… face-shaped, Louis supposes. It’s not a perfect circle, as there’s an angle to his jaw. Aren’t most faces that way? Harry’s face is an attractive one for sure, but Louis’ never tried to pinpoint what it is about the shape of Harry’s face that makes it stand out among the rest. He’s still clueless on how to proceed.

Shrugging to himself, he draws along the lines of Harry’s makeshift graph before drawing an angular line for his chin. Holding the pencil in his hand, he takes a moment to self-assess his work, laughter bubbling up in his chest straightaway. He’s drawn a three sided square with a triangle at the bottom, a face that would be more fitting for a demented robot than an actual human. He would have been better off just drawing a circle.

“Your graphing method is shit,” he says.

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s not if you know what you’re doing. I’m almost done with mine, by the way.”

“Me too,” Louis agrees, “my masterpiece is almost complete. And so much faster than yours.” He hastily adds a curved smile, a circle for a nose, and two X’s for eyes. He can tell Harry’s giving his own drawing a final once over, so Louis scribbles sparse curls of hair before slamming his pencil on the table. “Done!” he announces, promptly turning his picture in Harry’s direction.

Harry hasn’t looked at Louis’ drawing for more than a split second before he loses it. His hand smacks against his thigh and he snorts before letting out an absolute gut-busting laugh. He’s alternating between laughing and screeching when Niall, Liam, and Vanessa enter the room, identical curious looks on their faces.

“What in the bloody hell is that?” Niall says, snatching Louis’ picture from his hand.

“Harry, obviously. I drew him. Who’s the artist now?” Niall passes the picture to Liam and Vanessa, and the three of them join Harry in his laughter. Traitors.

“Oh, Lou,” Harry says finally, “God. That’s so bad. I’m sorry, it’s just,” he wipes at his eyes. “It’s awful.”

“The four of you wouldn’t know real art if it smacked you in the face,” Louis says. He’s not legitimately offended, really, but it _is_ something he did in approximately two minutes time. Given the proper amount time and instruction, he’s sure he could’ve drawn something halfway decent. Besides, he’s not the one who’s the bloody art student, anyway. “I’m hanging this on my gallery wall.”

“Wonderful,” Liam groans.

Louis catches a glimpse of Harry’s sketchpad as he stands. It’s still open, partially obscured by a throw pillow, but Louis manages to see Harry’s rendering of his mouth before Harry grabs it away protectively. Harry’s drawn Louis with a huge, open-mouthed smile. Louis’ teeth somehow look like they’re practically sparkling, even sketched in pencil, and Harry’s added a dimple to one cheek rivaling his own. Louis wonders if Harry’s managed to catch the crinkles by his eyes, the ones his mum always gushes about when she makes him truly laugh.

Whatever he’s done with the rest, the glimpse Louis’ just seen is incredible.

He pretends to stomp haughtily into the kitchen. He opens a cupboard, retrieving the masking tape and tearing off a small strip. He’s going to hang his drawing in the middle, between Harry’s sketch of the cafe door and his drawing of Louis’ December selfie. It’s only going to add to the ambiance, despite Liam’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Hey.” Harry’s come up behind him quietly. It catches him by surprise when he grasps Louis’ forearm. “Wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”

Louis swallows, then shakes his head. “You didn’t. It was all just fun. I’m not actually this shitty at drawing.”

“I know,” Harry says. He actually doesn’t know, has never seen Louis draw anything else, but Louis knows he means well. And he still hasn’t let go of Louis’ arm.

“I’m gonna,” Louis says, motioning toward the sink before breaking away. “Time to water Fernie.” He’s trying to recall if Harry’s ever touched him that way before, grasping him tightly and holding on. Louis feels like would remember. It would be hard to forget the lingering burning sensation on his forearm, as if each of Harry’s fingertips is still making contact. He tries to shake off the feeling and the accompanying muddled state of his brain, concentrating on filling a glass with water.

Harry’s walked over to Fernie, studying her as he runs his fingers over a leaf. “She looks a bit wilted.”

Louis frowns. “I know. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Maybe just not enough sunlight? It’s been so gloomy out.” He carefully pours the water over her soil, making sure it’s dispersed evenly around the pot.

They stand together in the kitchen for a moment, looking Fernie over. Harry’s right, of course. Louis had noticed her leaves were a little less vibrant than before, had seen the way some of them seemed to be shriveling. He’d been pretty sure he was watering her the correct amount, and other than that he didn’t know what else to do. He thinks he’s been trying to convince himself she looks okay to keep from fretting over her, but Harry’s noticed now too. He can’t let the plant Harry gave him die.

“Did she get any water while you were at your mum's over Christmas?” Harry asks.

“Of course. Had the neighbor come over twice weekly.”

“Maybe she’s outgrowing the pot?” Harry measures her against his body. “When I bought her she came up to my thigh. Now she’s up to my chest.”

“Hmm,” Louis says. “Could be. I’ll look into getting her a new pot this weekend. Would you want to come?”

“Definitely. We could go back to the flower shop where I got her, see what they have.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe,” Harry says, “we could watch _Titanic_ too. It’s possible I own it as part of my movie collection.”

Louis snorts. “Of course you do. Plant shopping and _Titanic._ It’s a… plan.” He narrowly avoids saying _date._

“Hey,” Niall calls out from the living room, “you two ready to head out?”

“Are you ready?” Louis asks Harry. “You’ve got a nineteenth birthday to celebrate.”

Harry smiles. “Definitely.”

\--

“So next month is it, then?” Louis asks. He and Harry have been ditched at the hightop table they’ve chosen in the pub. Liam and Vanessa are dancing and Niall’s who-knows-where. He’s pretty sure Nick and Perrie and some of their other mates are meeting up with them soon, but apparently everyone’s chosen to arrive fashionably late. Not that he minds having Harry to himself for the time being.

“Yep,” Harry replies, “we’ve just got the March drawing. Then the exhibition, and it’s done.” He’s wearing a pink rhinestone _Birthday Princess_ tiara that Niall had given him, and is responding to another text. He’s had at least twenty different people text him tonight to wish him a happy birthday. He’s well loved.

“Then once the exhibition is done, will I just be tossed to the side, or what? You won’t have any use for me anymore.”

Harry smirks. “Hardly. I intend to keep spending time with you. If you still want to, of course.” He’s slurring a bit, his lips growing progressively pinker with each drink he’s consumed over the night.

“I’ll consider it.” Louis can’t help but giggle as soon as the words leave his mouth. He doesn’t intend on letting their friendship fall to the wayside just because Harry’s project is ending. The drawings were the starting point of their story, but not where things will end for them. Not in the slightest.

Their shoulders brush as Louis giggles, the simple touch sending a shiver up his spine. The table was small for their original party of five, meaning Harry and Louis had ended up in stools mere centimetres apart. Louis supposes he could’ve inched away from Harry now that they have the space to themselves. Then again, Harry could have done the same. But instead they remain close enough that Louis swears he can almost feel the heat radiating off Harry’s body.

“Lads! I’ve got shots!” Niall appears out of nowhere, slamming a tray down on the table. He’s shoving shot glasses into their hands before they have a second to think. They clink them together and throw them back quickly in an effort to keep up with him.

Louis’ not sure what Niall’s just given them, but it’s a double shot of pure shit. It’s painful to swallow down. Niall whoops once he’s done, smacking his hand against the table. In a matter of seconds, he’s flitting back off into the crowd.

“Shit,” Louis says, wiping his eyes with his hand. “That was awful.” Harry’s got his head on the table. “You okay there, H?” Louis asks, bringing his hand to Harry’s thigh and squeezing.

Harry lifts his head slowly, his smile weak. “How many more times do you think he’s going to do that?”

Louis shrugs. It’s happened three times so far. Niall’s speciality is getting free shots on pub nights out, especially when they’re celebrating a birthday. “We’ll turn down the next ones.”

Harry doesn’t respond. Louis looks over, only to find his eyes focused on Louis’ hand on his thigh. _Oh._ Louis removes his hand quickly, bringing it to a glass of water on the table. He takes a shaky drink.  

“Sorry,” he says.

Harry shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He holds out his hand, wordlessly requesting the glass to take a long pull. He sets it back on the table, his hand pausing in mid-air before he tentatively moves it toward Louis. His hand makes light contact with Louis’ thigh. “It’s okay,” he says again.

“Yeah.” Louis’ not sure if Harry’s even aware of what he’s saying. He could be asking permission or just talking to himself, but the way his large palm is gently squeezing Louis’ thigh is _definitely_ okay.

They sit quietly side by side for a moment. Louis lets his gaze fall over the pub. It’s crowded for a Thursday night in February.

He stiffens as Harry begins to run his thumb in a circle against his leg. _Relax,_ he tells himself. He closes his eyes, inhaling quietly as his muscles twitch under Harry’s touch.

Louis can feel his cock hardening in his pants, which is absolutely _maddening._ He can’t help but shift in his seat slightly, hoping Harry won’t notice. Harry’s hand stills for only a moment before his palm begins running up and down Louis’ thigh.

 _Bloody hell._ Louis keeps his eyes on the crowd, willing himself not to turn in Harry’s direction. He’s not sure what Harry’s game plan is right now, if he even has one, but Louis’ not about to do anything that could possibly make him stop. He holds back a groan, begging himself to keep it _together._  

“Louis,” Harry says. He’s speaking softly, his whisper barely carrying over the noisy space. Louis thinks he may be imagining it, until he does it again. “Louis.”

Louis turns his head slowly, meeting Harry’s blown pupils with his own. Harry’s cheeks are red, his mouth parted. They stare at each other, unmoving save Harry’s hand against Louis’ thigh.

“Louis.” Harry says again, a kind of reverent nature to his tone. He’s not calling him this time, Louis doesn’t think, just merely acknowledging that he’s here, that they’re in this moment together. Louis blinks slowly, his head lolling with the movement of Harry’s hand, the pressure against his thigh intensifying. He braces his hands against his barstool.

“Louis.” Harry leans forward from his stool, bringing his other hand to Louis’ untouched thigh. “Kiss me.”

“Yeah.” Louis meets him without thinking, his lips connecting effortlessly with Harry’s. The slightest blip of uncertainty flashes through Louis’ brain as Harry’s lips begin to move eagerly against his own. He swallows it down to press his tongue to Harry’s lips in a silent question. Harry responds, his mouth opening with a groan as Louis deepens the kiss.

He can’t believe this is happening. He’s not sure how long they go on, tongues moving greedily, heat between them rising in a sharp crescendo. All Louis knows is he’s kissing Harry. Harry, who he’s ached over for months, who’s always been someone Louis couldn't have. At least until now.

Harry breaks the kiss first, moving his lips to Louis’ neck. He begins to suck at Louis’ pulsepoint, the pressure persistent and rough, emitting a low moan from Louis’ lips. Louis thinks he may leave a mark. The thought causes his cock to grow harder, now an obvious imprint against his tight trousers. He doesn’t care in the slightest.

He’s hardly managed to catch his breath before Harry’s mouth is on his again. This kiss is frantic, fast-paced, edging on desperate. It’s everything Louis needs after months of wanting him. He moves his hands to Harry’s thighs, bracing himself as he meets him move for move. If Harry pushes this any further, they’re going to need to find a private space, away from the prying eyes of the crowded pub. Louis would be completely okay with that.

They both jump at the sound of something shattering. Louis’ eyes open quickly as he whips around. Some bloke at the next table has knocked a glass to the floor. Idiot.

He turns back to Harry, catching him running his hand through his hair. Louis could be miffed that the moment between them was put on pause, but it’s not permanently damaged like the shards of glass now littering the floor. The way he sees it, they probably needed the breather anyway. It’s dark in the pub, but Louis can still make out Harry’s kiss-chapped lips, the pronounced heaving in his chest as he tries to catch his breath. “Hi,” Louis says, smiling at him softly.

“Hey.” Harry brings his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat. “Glass all over the floor, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I, uh…” Harry takes a gulp of the water still sitting between them on the table. “I’m gonna go to the loo.”

“You alright?” Louis asks. He suddenly recalls Harry’s head on the table after their last shot. Maybe he has had too much.  

“I’m good. I’ll be right back.”    

Harry stands unsteadily, making sure to walk in a wide circle around the broken glass as he makes his way toward the toilets. He doesn’t turn back as he goes, but Louis still watches the back of his head until he loses sight of him in the crowd.

Louis runs his hand over his mouth once Harry’s out of sight, a boyish giggle threatening to erupt from his chest. Harry kissed him. They _kissed._

It almost seems unreal that kissing Harry is something that’s _actually_ happened. Louis had hoped that one day having Harry as more than a friend could be a possibility, but there was a part of him that always figured that was just extremely optimistic wishful thinking. But they just kissed and Louis’ pretty sure he’s not dreaming, the pain in his cheeks real as he pinches them between his fingers. He giggles again. Kissing Harry was better than anything Louis could have ever imagined, and he’s not sure what he did to get so lucky. Perhaps squeezing into his tightest pair of trousers had something to do with it. His vixen trousers, Nick calls them. He’s never taking them off again. Unless Harry tells him to.

Alone at the table, he’s able to adjust himself in earnest now. He’s gone mostly soft, the breaking glass plus Harry’s absence giving his nerve endings a chance to settle down. He polishes off the glass of water they’d been sharing and glances at his phone as he waits for Harry to return.

“Well hello there,” he hears as someone sidles up beside him. It’s not Harry. This person stands too tall and his loud voice sounds all wrong.

“Hello, Nicholas,” he says, frowning as Nick sits in Harry’s seat. He looks out into the crowd. No sign of Harry yet.

“Don’t look too happy to see me, darling. Where’s the birthday boy?”

“In the loo.”

Nick laughs. “Uh oh. He alright? How many drinks has young Niall scored him tonight?”

“A few. He’s fine though. Just had to go to the loo, I think.” Harry doesn’t need to be any of Nick’s concern. Louis’ watching out for him tonight.

He wonders what will happen when Harry gets back. Will they pretend like nothing happened? Possibly, if Nick’s still here. But if Nick manages to disappear before then…

“Don’t you need a drink or something?” Louis asks.

Nick cocks his head. “You’re acting strange tonight.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not. You just don’t have a drink.”

“Well. You’re not wrong. Let the birthday boy know we’re here when he gets back, will you? I’ll grab us a few drinks. Pints okay?”

Louis nods, keeping his eye in the direction of the loo as he feels Nick leave his side. He’s bought himself a few minutes alone with Harry at least. Now if he’d just get back here. Louis wants to pick things up where they left off. He wants to kiss him again.

Louis scrolls through Instagram in an attempt to stay busy, watching the time on his phone. Another three minutes pass, and he finds himself trying to shake the sense of worry that’s settling into his stomach. Maybe Harry’s had to wait in a queue? Or maybe Nick’s right and Niall’s barrage of shots actually did get to him. Louis cranes his neck, figures he’ll try to spot Harry exiting the loo one more time. No luck. Louis hates to vacate their table, but he should probably go check on him.

Pocketing his phone, Louis enters the crowd. He attempts to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, shifting left and right as he slithers through the masses.

A familiar head of hair adorned with a birthday tiara catches his attention.

Harry’s not still in the loo. He’s on the dance floor, and he’s not alone.

Louis’ frozen in place, watching as Harry leans into a stranger, allowing him to whisper something in his ear. He throws his head back in a laugh, not even flinching when the man places his hand on Harry’s arm.

He’s just being nice, clearly. Harry’s rubbish at turning down advances, and he’s notorious for listening kindly while men and women attempt to chat him up until someone comes to his rescue.

Just like always, Louis has no problem telling this bastard to shoo.

Louis pushes his way across the dance floor this time, in too much of a rush to attempt to politely waltz through. Harry’s still listening intently to whoever this arsehole is, probably waiting for Louis to save him. Which is exactly what Louis intends to do.

He budges up next to Harry, wrapping an arm around his waist protectively. Harry startles at the touch, but Louis knows he’ll relax once he sees it’s him.

“Hey,” Louis says. He ensures his voice is loud enough, his tone bordering on threatening as he makes sure the bloke staring at Harry can hear him too. “Is this guy bothering you?”

“Louis, it’s fine.”

Louis rolls his eyes at that. “Seriously, Harry. You don’t have to be so bloody nice all the time.” He scans the other man up and down, making sure the disgust is evident on his face. “Sorry, mate. He’s not interested.”

“Louis!” Harry says. He sounds genuinely frustrated, and begins to squirm from Louis’ hold. Which, _what?_ Surprised, Louis drops his arm from Harry’s waist.

“Harry?” he asks. “What are you doing?”

“I said I was fine.”

“But…” Louis pauses. “But, what about… at the table, earlier. I thought - ”

Harry takes a sudden interest in the floor, his eyes cast downward. Louis wills him to look up. _What the fuck is happening?_ Their third wheel lets out an exasperated sigh before storming off.

“Harry?”

Harry lifts his head slowly at the sound of his name, his eyes focusing anywhere but Louis’ face. “We were just having fun,” he says, his tone a whine bordering on irritation.

Louis’ stomach sinks. “What did you just say?”

Something shifts with Louis’ question. He watches as Harry tenses his hands into fists, seemingly building some resolve. He suddenly looks straight at Louis, his expression almost hostile. “You were the one who told me to let go and enjoy my first year, weren’t you?!” There’s a sharpness to his voice Louis’ never heard before. “And now I’m trying to do that and it’s like suddenly your opinion has changed.”

Louis feels his mouth drop open, shock coursing over him at the weight of Harry’s words. He’s too flabbergasted to even attempt to form a response.

It doesn’t matter anyway because Harry continues. “I’ve been single for all of a few days, you know. And it’s my birthday and I’ve been drinking and I’m just _trying_ to have a good time, like _you_ keep telling me to do. What did you think was happening?”

“I… I don’t know,” Louis says, honestly. He feels like he’s about to throw up or start crying or both. “I… I think I’m gonna…” he gestures to the exit, turning quickly.

“Louis, wait,” he hears Harry say behind him. He feels Harry’s arm reach out, fingertips brushing against his forearm. They’re just far enough apart that he can’t secure his grip. Louis continues to push past the other pub patrons, the glowing exit sign his only compass.

He makes it to the door and pushes it open swiftly, the cold night air hitting him like a wall of ice. His coat’s still sitting at their abandoned table, but there’s no way he’s turning back now. Liam will bring it home. He’s dependable that way.

He braces himself for a moment, his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. He’s not sure if Harry might still be pursuing him, so he forces himself to start moving, quickly turning on a street corner and crossing over until he’s mostly out of sight from the pub door.

His eyes are watering in the brisk air. He brings his hands to his face, rubbing angrily against them as he attempts to quicken his pace. It’s fucking cold without his bloody coat and he can feel that last awful shot sloshing around more and more in his stomach the faster he moves. It’s all somehow less painful than the words that had shot out of Harry’s mouth, hitting his chest like darts to a bullseye.

He can’t believe he was so stupid.

\--

The Horan-Payne-Tomlinson flat is a pretty laid-back, welcoming place. Louis and Niall had convinced Liam that privacy was really only necessary when one of them had their dick out. This means bedroom doors are left unlocked except for this agreed-upon circumstance, and Louis’ never had any problem barging his way into Liam and Niall’s rooms whenever it suits him. He expects the same from them.

It’s strange now, to watch his doorknob wiggle, Liam trying it again as if Louis would have magically, silently unlocked it in the time Liam’s been pleading to him from the hallway.

Louis’ not even sure that Liam knows entirely what happened. All Louis knows is that he had fled from the pub and when Liam and Niall returned home, shouting his name and pounding on his door, he had only had the energy to tell them that he was fine. It wasn’t the truth, but it had gotten them off his back for at least a brief reprieve.

He’d slept fitfully, flashes of Harry’s lips on his crossing his consciousness, cutting to Harry with a stranger, then some terse words. He’d felt awful upon waking, sneaking from his room to use the loo and find some paracetamol for his throbbing head before locking himself back inside.

“Louis,” Liam says from the other side of the door. “He just wants to talk to you for a second.”

“That’s nice,” Louis says. There’s no vitriol to it, as much as he’d like there to be. Harry’s here, at _his_ flat, and Louis wishes he could go out there and let him have it, completely tell him off. Maybe that would make him feel better. But even after last night, one of the worst nights he’s ever experienced, he still wouldn’t want to hurt Harry. And besides, as much as he’d rather be angry, he’s really just feeling sad.

“Louis, don’t be like this. Just come talk to him for a minute.”

He’s not sure what his long term plan is. He knows he can’t stay holed up in his room forever, and forgoing his morning cuppa is proving to be a challenge. But he’s not ready to face his flatmates just yet, or Harry. He could use a few more moments to himself.

If Harry would’ve just taken his blasted sketchpad with him to the pub last night, or not brought it over at all, he likely wouldn’t have shown up at their doorstep this morning. But Harry told Liam he’s here to collect his sketchpad, and that he needs to talk to Louis.

“Louis.” Liam says again, the desperation in his voice growing. Apparently Harry’s stubbornness is matching Louis’ own this morning if he won’t bloody leave. Liam hates conflict, Louis knows, and it’s not fair to make him serve as the middleman. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s a futile effort - he’s going to look like shit this morning no matter what he does. He grabs his glasses from his bedside table, hoping they’ll at least serve to mask the puffiness lingering beneath his eyes, then makes his way to the door.

Liam turns the knob as soon as he hears the lock click, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m great.” Louis lies. He’s certain the smile he’s trying to force comes out looking more like a grimace. “Where is he?”

Liam gestures over his shoulder. “By the front door, I think.”

“Okay.” He makes his way down the hall slowly, his socked feet still cold against their hardwood floors. Apparently Harry really wants to hammer it into his head that he was just kissing Louis for fun. Louis was there and Harry was single, so why the hell not snog the life out of him? Louis’ pretty sure he got it the first time around. His slow trudge down the hallway feels like some sort of death march, like each step he takes inches him closer to his untimely demise. All he needs is melancholic music playing in the background. Cue the _Game of Thrones_ soundtrack, he thinks.

Harry’s standing by the door, one arm wrapped around himself, the other hand holding his sketchpad. He looks to Louis. Louis will always find him beautiful, but even he has to admit that Harry’s not looking his greatest today. His unruly hair is sticking out from under a snapback every which way, and his complexion seems pallid compared to his normal glow. He looks like he’s spending his first day as a full fledged nineteen year old hungover and feeling like shit.  

On top of everything else, Louis is probably responsible for ruining his birthday.

Harry's the first to break the silence between them. “You wear glasses?” he says. His voice sounds rough.

“Sometimes.” Louis pushes them against his nose, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Can’t imagine that’s what you wanted to talk about.”

“No,” Harry agrees. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. They’re standing over an arm’s length apart, the space between them feeling vast. Especially compared to last night, when they’d been pressed up against each other, hands on thighs, lips connected. Louis attempts to scrub the image from his mind. Life moving forward would be easier if he could forget it ever happened.

“Well, then?”

Harry clears his throat. “Uh. I just wanted to tell you that I think I need some time.”

Louis stares at him, confused. “Time? For what?”

Harry rubs a hand against his face. “Time, uh, to myself, I guess?” He shifts uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the floor. “I’ve got some stuff I need to figure out.”

 _Oh._ Now Louis’ getting it. “You mean time away from me, then.”

Harry’s teeth are threatening to cut open his bottom lip as he bites down, his expression nervous. He nods.

“You didn’t need to stick around to make a formal announcement that you don’t want to be friends anymore.”

“No, no,” Harry says, quickly. He takes an aborted step forward, his arm reaching out before dropping to his side. He sighs. “Please, Louis. Don’t hate me.”

Louis shakes his head, his voice soft. “I don’t.” He couldn’t.

“I just…” Harry sniffles, bringing a hand to his nose. Louis can’t bear to look at him. “Things are really confusing right now. I need to sort myself out. And I…” He steps into Louis’ space this time, waiting until Louis’ eyes meet his. They’re bloodshot and glossy, tears threatening to spill over in a moment’s notice. “I’m sorry. About what I said last night. What I did. I, I don’t know. I’m trying to figure shit out and I’m confused and I feel like I dragged you into something I wasn’t ready for. And I’m sorry.”

This is the part where Louis should tell him it’s okay. Maybe he even needs to apologise himself. He had been so careful not to initiate with Harry, but he’d also been all too eager to push things along. He can’t bring himself to do either, though. The truth is, he’s not okay, and he’s not sorry, not really. He’s not going to say things he doesn’t mean. All he can do is respect Harry’s wishes, shitty as they may be. He’ll be living in limbo from this moment forward, stuck wondering if Harry really needs time or if this is his way of slipping out of Louis’ life with less guilt.

“Well, then,” Louis says eventually. “Guess I’ll see you around. Or, actually, I guess I won’t.”

Harry frowns. “In March, okay? I’ll text you.”

“March?” It’s only the second of February, but apparently Harry’s got a timeline for figuring his shit out.

“Well, yeah. For our last drawing.”

“Oh.” Louis didn’t realise he could feel worse. Of course, Harry has to see him again. For an explicitly course-related reason. Not because he wants to.

“I think I’d better go,” Harry says. He takes a tentative step to the door. Louis makes no move to follow him. Harry can let himself out. He turns on his heels in time with Harry’s turn of the knob when he hears Harry say his name once more. Caught by surprise, Louis turns back to look toward Harry, a question in his eyes.

“I truly am sorry,” Harry says.  

Louis nods, his eyes cast down. “Goodbye, Harry.” He doesn’t stick around to watch him leave, hurrying back to the safety of his room, his locked door. He knows Liam and Niall were likely listening, and having to deal with them looking sorry for him is the last thing he wants to do right now.

Louis falls across his bed, pounding a fist against the plush surface of the mattress. It bounces back annoyingly quickly, leaving him void of the satisfying feeling of punching something. He feels so fucking _stupid._ He’d told himself he wasn’t going to let his feelings for Harry get in the way of being his friend, reminded himself over and over to play it cool, even in the midst of Harry’s breakup. But he just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop himself from letting his dumb emotions get the best of him. Now he’s lost Harry, and he’s more miserable than ever.

\--

**MARCH**

“Lou? You gonna get that?”

“Huh? Oh.” Louis digs into his rucksack, suddenly overtly aware of the annoying vibrating sound. He’d been focused before, running his highlighter over his course readings, completely unaware his mobile was buzzing until Liam pointed it out.

He unearths it quickly, hoping he’s not bothering anyone else in the library quietly revising around them. Nick’s calling him. Huh.

“I’m just gonna-” Louis whispers, gesturing toward the exit. Liam nods in understanding.

He answers it before he misses the call, his voice hushed. “Hello?”

“Yes, hello,” Nick whispers back. “I’m looking for the elusive recluse Louis Tomlinson.”

He rolls his eyes. “Hold on,” he says, until he manages to push through the library door and into the cold early evening air. There’s an empty bench right outside the library. “Okay, sorry. I was in the library with Liam.”

“You were in the what now?”

“Oh, quiet. You heard me. We’re revising.” Louis’ got to admit, working in the library is actually nice. There are lots of tables to sit at and it’s impressively silent considering the amount of people often milling about. He finds he can get quite a bit done, more than when he tries to work alone in his bedroom at home.

“So that’s your life now? You sit in the library? I’m truly sad for you.”

“It’s not my _life._ It’s where I go to revise,” Louis says. “Not where I spend all of my time.” He’s also been spending quite a bit of time in his flat. And at the new cafe he found, a bit further away from the university. That right there is three different places. He sighs. “Did you call for a reason, or…?”

The truth is, Louis knows he’s been isolating himself lately by keeping his distance from his usual haunts. He’s not been hitting up trivia or going to the nice cafe with the best brew and warm fireplace. He’s been walking the long way across campus, steadfastly avoiding passing by the art building. Maybe he’s being overly cautious, but it’s just best not to go anywhere he could chance running into…  

“Missed you at group tonight,” Nick says.

Louis sighs. “Yeah. I know. I’ve been shit about going this year. I’m sorry.”

“Meh. ‘s not like it’s required. And I remember you coming at least once, no?”

“Yeah. December.” He’d gone with Harry for the society’s annual gag gift exchange. Harry had ended up with a plastic necklace adorned with penis beads, the type you’d see at a hen party. He’d turned beet red when Nick had slipped it over his neck, but hadn’t taken it off for the rest of the night. It had been hilarious.

“Well, anyway, Harry was there tonight.”

“That’s nice.” He ignores the little flutter that sets off in his chest from hearing Harry’s name. It’s the first time in awhile he’s heard someone say it out loud. Niall and Liam have been avoiding mentioning him like it’s the plague.  

“He was a bit quiet, but he did ask me if I’d talked to you lately. Said he’s been trying to reach you?”

“Ah. Yeah.”

Harry had texted him a couple of times over the past week, asking when they should meet up for his final drawing of Louis. One more drawing, and his months-long project will be over.

Louis wonders if Harry would have contacted him if he didn’t need to for his course.

He intends on texting him back. He’d never planned on sabotaging Harry’s ability to finish what they’d started, not even during some of his lowest points over the last month or so. But he also knows full well that it’s possible he and Harry won’t see each other again after this last meet up, so he might be stalling a bit. Delaying the inevitable, he figures.

“Tommo,” Nick says. “I don’t really want to be in the middle of whatever is going on between you two. I know you had some kind of a falling out-”

“We’ve not fallen out. We’re just… taking some time.” He’s echoing back what Harry had said that morning after the pub disaster. Some days the exchange feels like it replays in a continuous loop in his brain.

“Whatever you want to call it, then, but it seemed like you two really got on? Plus, I know you had some sort of crush on him, and he let it slip tonight that he’s single. Seriously, Louis, you’re not the type to just let life wash over you without having a say. What in the bloody hell are you waiting for?”

“It’s complicated.” Louis sighs. “I should have just kept dating you. Would’ve been easier.”

Nick laughs at that, his guffaw loud enough to make Louis startle. He moves the phone further from his ear, the tinny sound reverberating through his skull. _Ouch._ “What?” Louis asks.

“You are such a wanker sometimes. The two of us dating was awful, and you know it. I love you, you know, but most definitely not like that.”

“Ha. Thanks.”

“Seriously though,” Nick says. “You know relationships are never easy. There’s always a risk of getting hurt, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth giving it a go.”

“I guess,” Louis says eventually, his voice quiet. Nick’s unsolicited relationship advice is something he’s heard before, and of course it’s the truth, but the problem is it doesn’t just depend on him. If Harry doesn’t want to be with him, or even be his friend, then that’s that.

“So you’re saying I’m right?”

Louis can’t help but laugh at that. “Sure, you arse. If that would make you feel good. Grimmy, you are _so_ right. I know you don’t hear that all too much so, enjoy.”

He hangs up eventually, once he’s promised Nick he’ll get in touch with Harry. He stays outside for a while after, lighting a cigarette and studying its falling embers, the mindlessness of it all keeping his never-resting thoughts at least somewhat at bay. Eventually he knows he’s stalling, and he genuinely would like to get back to revising with Liam, so he unlocks his phone and pulls up his messages. Harry’s last unanswered message sits near the top.

He types out a reply.

_Hey. We can meet up for the last drawing whenever._

Harry starts writing him back immediately, as signalled by the three dots that make Louis’ pulse quicken. He’s not sure why he feels anxious. They’re just coordinating a time to meet.

_Can we do this weekend? Saturday maybe?_

Louis suggests Saturday afternoon at his flat and Harry agrees. It all feels cordial enough.

And just like that, Louis will be seeing Harry again in less than three days’ time.

\--

Louis had come up with a plan back over the winter holiday. His mum had asked him to sort through some of his things in her attempt to clean out what they didn’t need in their already cramped living quarters. He’d put it off until the night before he left - he _was_ on holiday after all - but eventually he’d hunkered down and started perusing through the boxes she’d set out.

He’d pulled out the garment bag containing the suit he’d worn at his mum and Dan’s wedding. It was a smart navy blue number, the first suit he’d ever owned that was tailored specifically to his measurements. He’d looked _good_ wearing it, the swell of his arse highlighted perfectly by the trousers, the crisp white shirt he’d worn underneath serving as an optimal colour contrast. But it had ended up in the recesses of some wardrobe, and Louis hadn’t thought much of it since. He doesn’t often have a reason to put on a real suit.

He’d done the maths in his head late that night in early January to figure out Harry had three drawings left. His plan had started to form - he would surprise Harry by showing up for their last drawing wearing his fancy suit. Harry would get a laugh out of it for sure, but it would also make the event feel special. Like a celebration of sorts, he’d figured. Plus, it never hurt to show off a bit in front of Harry. He liked him.

That plan’s been long abandoned now. His suit’s hung carefully in his wardrobe, the one thing he had unpacked right away since coming back from holiday, but his heart’s not in it anymore. Harry should be here any minute, and Louis is still in bed.

He can hear Liam making noise in the kitchen, likely trying to annoy him into getting up. He’d knocked on his door earlier like some kind of meddling mum, and Louis has already told him he’s coming. And he is, eventually, if he can convince himself to emerge from his duvet. It’s equal parts comfortable and safe under its warm, feathery-soft embrace.

He tenses as he hears an unmistakeable knock at the front door. Harry must be here.

“Louis,” he hears Liam call. He shucks off his duvet with a sigh, slipping on the track pants and faded red shirt he’d worn the day before. He finds a pair of clean socks in his dresser - a true miracle - and slips them on, hopping toward his bedroom door as he goes.

He can hear Liam and Harry talking as he walks down the hallway, their voices too quiet to make out what they’re saying. He lingers for a moment before forcing himself to come around the corner, hoping the thumping of his heart in his chest won’t be audible to anyone else. Liam and Harry fall silent the second he enters the room.

“Hey.” Harry says. He’s dressed down today as well, his trackies not unlike Louis’ own. It would have been stupid to wear a suit.

“Hi,” Louis says. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

They stand quietly in the space, feet apart, neither one making a move to set up for drawing or continue the conversation. What once might have felt comfortable is now awkward as hell.

Liam clears his throat. “I’ve actually got to...” He motions toward the door.

“Right, right,” Louis says. The lucky bastard has a reason to escape. He’d offered to cancel his plans with Vanessa if Louis wanted him around, but that wasn’t necessary. He’s capable of being alone with Harry.

Who knows where Niall is today. Nothing new there.

They say goodbye to Liam, and the closing of the door seems to set them both into motion.

“Should I?” Harry starts, gesturing toward the couch.

Louis shakes his head. “Let’s sit in the kitchen.” The last time they sat on Louis' couch together involved chucked pencils and a poorly drawn Harry and endless laughs. It feels like a fond memory would be marred if they sat there today. So Louis turns on his heels, making his way into their cramped excuse for a kitchen. He can hear Harry kicking off his boots, dropping them to the floor in a loud thud. Louis finds the cuppa Liam had attempted to entice him with earlier sitting on the counter, and inhales its warmth gratefully. At least there’s something good coming out of leaving his room.

He makes his way toward their makeshift kitchen table. It’s actually an old bedside table. Liam’s parents had sent him with a matching set of two, as if he was middle aged and married, so Louis and Niall had stolen one and claimed it fit for proper dining. It’s not, really, too short and small to accommodate all three of them at once. But it fits in the tight space and didn’t cost them a cent, so they make it work. They’d found two chairs at a thrift shop nearby for five pounds, and sitting in their dining space really makes Louis feel quite dignified, all things considered. He sets his cup on one of the coasters Liam insists they use before sitting down, waiting for Harry to join him.

Harry’s shucked off his winter coat and beanie and slides into the kitchen in socked feet, his sketchpad under his arm. “At the table, then?” he asks. Louis nods. Harry sits quietly in the chair opposite him, flipping through pages until he settles on one. He pulls his charcoal pencil from behind his ear, hardly looking in Louis’ direction before he makes his first stroke.

Louis watches the way the milk forms a murky cloud in his cup of tea. He studies the wood grain of the bedside table, running his hand across its smooth surface. It’s a bit dusty, he realises. One of them should probably clean it soon. He wonders idly if Liam’s mum left them with a duster.

He keeps thinking about dusting and Liam’s mum, a futile attempt at keeping his mind off the fact that he and Harry have commenced their monthly ritual for the last time. Surely Harry’s glanced in his direction at least once, to remind himself of Louis’ features as he starts to draw. Louis doesn’t dare let their eyes meet.

Louis sighs eventually, moving to the cupboard where he’s got a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray tucked away. He finds a lighter and ignites one, the first drag immediately helping to settle his nerves as he returns to his spot in front of Harry.

He watches ash form at the cigarette’s surface, tapping it deftly against the ashtray. Harry makes a tsking sound, his gaze still on his page.

“What?” Louis asks.

Harry doesn’t answer right away, his head tilting to the left as he applies a series of light strokes to his sketch. “Nothing,” he finally says. “Just thought Liam didn’t like you smoking in the flat.”

Louis shrugs. “He’s not here, is he?”

“Well aren’t you a rebel?” Harry says, a smirk overtaking his face as he studies the page in front of him.

“Don’t you know it.” Louis exhales more than just smoke on his next breath. He can feel some of the tension leaving his shoulders too. He turns sideways in his chair, bending his knees to hug his legs against his chest. He’s picked the chair that butts up to their refrigerator, and he lets his back rest up against its surface, the soft whirring of the motor providing a soothing vibration against his spine.

The silence between them is shorter this time before Harry speaks again.

“Fernie’s looking well,” he says. “You moved her to a bigger pot.”

Louis smiles. “Yeah, yeah. You were right. My girl just needed larger living quarters.” The ficus stands as tall as Louis now, sturdy in her new pot. He doesn’t find it necessary to mention that he may have dedicated a ridiculous amount of time and care into sweet-talking her out of dying over the past month. Sometimes the livelihood of his blasted plant felt like the only thing keeping him trudging along.

“Thought maybe you would just let her die.”

Louis whips his head up to look at Harry, taken aback by his comment. “Why on earth would I do that?”

Harry shifts in his chair. He’s not drawing, but his focus is still on the pad in his lap. “Dunno. Because it came from me? And… yeah.”

“I wasn’t going to let her suffer just because we weren’t talking,” Louis says. He means it. He’s spent this month feeling confused by Harry, ridiculously heartbroken without cause, even angry… but he’s also missed him too. Sometimes his bloody giant of a plant has felt like the only reminder of Harry he’s had left. That and the drawings still hung on his kitchen wall.

“Thanks,” Harry says, quietly. His face is solemn, focused on his pencil.

Louis blinks, confused. “For what? For not killing Fernie?”

“Well, that too, I guess. I meant for being okay with not talking for a while.”

“Oh.” It’s not like he had much choice. “It’s fine.” It’s sucked, actually. The whole thing. A part of him wishes they’d never kissed, good as it felt in the moment. It wasn’t worth losing Harry completely.

At one low point Louis had told Liam he wished he and Harry had never met, but that was never really true. Harry was someone worth meeting, even if Louis will forever regret how things played out between them.

“It was good for me, I think,” Harry says, “to get some perspective. To have a bit of time just to myself.”

“Oh?” Louis stubs out his cigarette, watching it settle in the ashtray.

“Yeah. So I could figure out what I’m doing, you know. What I want.”

“Uh huh.” That’s nice for Harry that kissing Louis and then panicking apparently helped him find himself. It was at Louis’ expense, but -

Harry surprises him when he sets his pencil on the table, holding his sketchpad protectively against his chest. He sighs. “I’m really sorry, Louis. I am. I wasn’t thinking clearly that night and I took advantage of you. And then the things I said… I just. I’m truly sorry.” His eyes are focused, unwavering as he looks at Louis. It’s not just a casual glance in Louis’ direction this time, as if he’s trying to remember how to draw the chisel of his chin. He’s practically boring a hole into Louis’ brain the way he’s looking at him, his eyes conveying how much he truly means what he’s saying. It’s not something Louis was expecting out of today.

“I’m sorry too,” Louis says. “I shouldn’t have pushed you into anything so fast.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.”

Louis shrugs. “I didn’t exactly stop you.”

“It‘s really not your fault.” Harry watches him a moment longer, then runs a hand through his hair before retrieving his pencil. The sound it makes against the page is so soft it’s nearly imperceptible. Louis hadn’t noticed it when Harry had sketched him in the cafe, or on the couch, or in the middle of a bloody club on their mock New Year’s Eve. He’s hearing it now though, the soothing quality to its rhythm giving Louis something to focus on as he keeps still in front of Harry. He begins to count each stroke, the way it settles him almost akin to counting sheep in the dark of night.

“Were you the one who broke up with Nick?” Harry asks suddenly.

“Huh?” The question catches Louis by surprise. “It was basically mutual, I guess. I might have been the one to bring it up, though. Can’t really remember.” Louis’ not sure why Harry cares.

“Oh.” His pencil moves across the paper with a gentle _swish._ “Did you feel guilty?”

Louis looks up. “About Nick and I breaking up?” Harry nods. “Not really, no. We weren’t a good match. It’s been for the best for us both.”

Harry doesn’t respond. His eyebrows scrunch together as his drawing intensifies, the swishing sound turning almost violent.  

“I feel guilty sometimes,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.

“About your breakup?”

Harry nods again.

 _Oh._ Louis doesn’t respond right away. He knows he needs to tread carefully with this topic, especially given the current limbo of his own relationship with Harry. It’s a stretch to call what they have right now a friendship. They almost more closely resemble acquaintances at the moment - something more than enemies, but still dangerously teetering on the edge of having no relationship at all. “Well, you don’t really have much reason to feel guilty, right? It’s not like you cheated on him or something.”

“No. But it still sucks hurting someone.”

 _Sucks getting hurt too,_ Louis thinks. “Right. But you’ve got to be honest with yourself, you know? It’s better for everyone in the end. Even if it’s shitty in the moment.”

It’s true, what he’s saying. It’s advice he could even stand to follow himself. He shouldn’t have any regrets when it comes to Harry. Kissing him _was_ honest. It was exactly what he’d been craving. The aftermath hasn’t felt great, but he knows he’ll come out on the other side eventually.

“Louis?” Harry says. His voice sounds unsure. “You… you _wanted_ to kiss me that night, right? Like, you weren’t just going along with it?”

Louis feels the heat rise in his cheeks, a nervous sensation flutter across his stomach. He considers lying. Perhaps he should, in a last ditch effort to protect himself. Admitting the truth is only going to serve to expose him further. But he’s legitimately just brought up honesty and to immediately contradict himself doesn’t feel right. He inhales deeply before forcing his lips to set into motion.

“Yeah,” he says. “I wanted to kiss you, Harry. Had been wanting to.” Maybe he should feel embarrassed, but admitting he had a crush on Harry only brings on a mixture of relief and nostalgia. It’s out in the open now, the information Harry’s to use as he sees fit.

“Okay.” Harry says, his cheeks flushing, his mouth turning pleasantly upwards. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the confession. Louis can’t help but feel the tiniest spark of hope igniting in his chest. Maybe there’s a chance they can put what’s happened behind them and work toward rebuilding their friendship after all.

The tension dissipates after that. Louis scrounges through the cupboard, emerging victorious with chocolate biscuits. He pours himself a second cup of tea, making one for Harry as well. They don’t say much, but it feels like they’re settling into the normalcy of what’s been their routine. Harry’s drawing and Louis’ existing and it doesn’t feel _as_ comfortable as it has in the past, but it’s also definitely not as strained as it was moments before. It’s not bad progress for an afternoon.

Louis is going to miss this time with Harry each month, this project that’s been shared solely between the two of them. He wishes today didn’t mark its end.

In no time at all, Harry breathes a sigh of relief before closing his sketchpad and stretching his arms. “That’s it, then,” he announces, his voice satisfied.

“Last one, huh?” Louis says, forcing himself to bite into a biscuit in an attempt to appear unaffected by the whole concept of this being over.

“Yeah. It feels weird. I bet you’ll be glad to have me out of your hair, though.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’ve quite liked it, honestly. You know I’m happy to be the centre of attention.”

Harry smirks. “I guess so.” He stands slowly, taking his cup to the sink and shrugging off Louis’ insistence that he can wash it later. Harry runs a towel over the mug slowly once it’s clean, leaning lazily against the counter. Louis’ getting the sense that Harry’s not in any big rush to leave, and that feels good.

“Do you think they’ve all turned out okay?” Louis asks. He nonchalantly crosses the tiny kitchen, leaning against the cabinet on the opposite side of the sink. “I’d hate to be responsible for a bloody awful portrait study.”

“It’s going to be good, I think. It will be my fault if it’s not.” Harry knows where the mugs go in Louis’ kitchen. He opens the cupboard and carefully stacks his on top of their teetering collection. “You’re going to come see for yourself though, right? At the exhibition?”

“I’d like to, yeah. When is it?”

“In two weeks. You’ll really come?”

Louis smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He’s just happy to hear he’s still invited.

Of course, Harry does need to leave eventually. Louis trails after him, watches as Harry puts on his shoes and bundles up to head outdoors. He tucks his sketchpad under his arm and faces Louis, his smile sheepish.

“So, I’ll see you at the exhibition then?”

“Definitely. Send me the time and place and I’ll be there.”

He’s a bit surprised when Harry hugs him. It’s brief but warm, and Harry gives him an extra tight squeeze before he breaks away. Louis’ still smiling like a loon once he’s closed the door behind him.

Harry doesn’t resent Louis, or even dislike him. In fact, they’re going to see each other again in just two short weeks, and Louis thinks there’s a distinct possibility that they could go back to being friends. There was a time Louis agonised over having nothing more than a friendship with Harry, but now he’s happy that friendship is even an option. It feels like the only choice he has, and he’s not going to be dumb enough to let it slip away from him again.

\--  

Louis has absolutely nothing to wear.

He has _plenty_ to lounge around in, jumpers and track pants galore in a massive pile on his floor. But he wants to wear something nice tonight, in honor of Harry’s art exhibition.

His suit’s overkill and the rest of his semi-nice clothes must be at his mum’s. Liam catches him rifling through Niall’s wardrobe.

“You can borrow something of mine,” he says, leaning against the doorway to watch Louis with amusement.

“Eh,” Louis says, “you’re too muscly. Niall’s more my size. What do you think of this one?” He pulls out a navy blue shirt. It’s dressy, with buttons up the front and a unique collar bordered in black.

Liam nods. “I bet that would look good. You wearing it with black trousers?”

“I think so.” Louis strips his ratty t-shirt off right there, pleased to find the dress shirt fits him well. He may have to snag it from Niall on a more permanent basis.

He’s in the living room within minutes, shirt tucked into his pants, hair quiffed up nicely. Liam and Vanessa are cuddled up on the couch, giggling as they watch something on the telly.

“What do you think?” Louis asks. He holds out his arms, showing off how the sleeves hit perfectly at his wrists.

“Looking good, Lou.”

“Like I belong at an art exhibition?”

Vanessa nods her head. “Most definitely.”

“Alright.” He claps his hands together before heading to their entryway, sorting through a pile of shoes until he finds his black trainers.

“Louis?” Liam calls from the couch. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

“Think I’ll be fine,” he says. Liam’s been handling him with kid gloves for a while. It’s a strange feeling, as he’s used to being the one to take care of those around him, from his flatmates to his siblings to all of the other friends he’s met in London along the way. But he has to admit it’s been nice to have an extra dose of Liam’s attention lately. He’s been spending more time around the flat, knowing without a word when Louis could use a confidant or another cup of tea. Maybe that’s the way things should be. Louis doesn’t have to be the caretaker all of the time. He was there when Liam was in crisis last year and now Liam’s returning the favour. He’s one of the best mates Louis’ ever been lucky enough to have.

Louis’ honestly feeling better now, though. He hasn’t seen Harry since they met up for his final drawing two weeks ago, but they’ve texted a bit since. Harry’s been busy putting his finishing touches on his project, whatever that means, and they’ve gone back to sharing the occasional tidbit about their days through pinging mobiles. Harry had even said he hoped to make it out to a trivia night soon when Louis had texted him a picture from the pub a few nights back. It had been Louis’ first night back at trivia since January. In his absence, Niall and Perrie had combined forces with Nick’s team and they’re actually winning now. Nick rubbed it in his face the entire night and while Louis tried to act irritated, trivia _with_ Nick instead of against him had actually been fun.

It would be even more fun if Harry started coming again too.

Liam steps into the entryway quietly as Louis finishes lacing up his trainers. “Hey,” he says. “Have fun tonight, okay? Maybe send me a picture of Harry’s exhibit?”

“A picture of Harry’s pictures?” Louis smirks. “Okay.” Liam catches him in a quick hug, the gesture reassuring before he’s off to see Harry.

He spends the walk to the art building thinking about him. Louis wonders if this kind of event is one to make Harry nervous. He thinks it may be. Harry’s reticent enough about even showing _Louis_ his artwork. Showing it to a crowd of professors and fellow artists is on a whole other level. Louis plans to be there right on time - early, even - in the hopes that his presence might make Harry feel better about the whole ordeal.

Louis is beginning to come to terms with the possibility of being Harry’s friend, and nothing but. There’s still a tiny voice in his head wondering if they could have ever been more, and so many what ifs float through his brain when he thinks about it all for too long. What if their timing had been better? What if a third party hadn’t been involved? He tries his best to let all that go, because Louis knows deep down that sometimes things just don’t work out in the most ideal way. And after a dreadful February, he’s certain that being able to have a friendship with Harry is worth more than anything else that could have been. He’d rather be his friend than be nothing to Harry at all.

There’s a sign outside the art building directing him toward the exhibit hall. He takes a breath and removes a hand from his pocket to pull open the door.

He’s only taken a few steps inside before an unmistakable voice calls his name. Louis turns, smiling widely as Harry moves toward him, arms outstretched.

“Louis? You came!” Harry throws his arms around him instantly, his face pressing into Louis’ neck.

“Of course I did. It’s a big day. The end of an era, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Harry lets his arms fall before stepping back. He’s got a frantic smile overtaking his face, his expression equal parts nervous and excited. It’s probably akin to how Louis feels before taking the stage for a play, the rush of adrenaline making him want to bounce off the walls.

It turns out Harry was on his way to the toilets before the exhibition is fully under way. He points Louis in the direction of the room, promising he’ll be there soon.

Louis easily finds the space, the sound of classical music coming from the large exhibit hall. Art covers every wall space available, and there are even some displays set up in the middle of the room on rollaway chalkboards. The event’s barely started, so it’s not too crowded yet. Students stand near their work, some bobbing on their toes as they wait to be approached. Louis should probably make his way around the room to look at everything. He will eventually. First, he needs to find Harry’s.  

He’s suddenly hit by the realisation that he’s about to see himself in six months worth of Harry’s portraits. He knows Harry’s talented, isn’t nervous about that aspect at all, but something in his stomach flutters knowing his image is going to be on display for whoever walks through this exhibition tonight. Those moments he’d spent being drawn by Harry had felt private in a way, and there’s a vulnerability bubbling up inside of him knowing that they’re hung openly somewhere in this space.

He tries to walk the room at an unhurried pace, scanning the walls from left to right as he goes. He hardly takes in the portraits of people he doesn’t recognise. It’s when he finally looks straight ahead that his heart truly skips a beat.

He sees himself, in perfect, pencil-drawn form, staring back from across the room.

Louis doesn’t even register that he’s moving until he’s standing right in front of Harry’s drawings. They’re in two rows of three, the pages from his sketchpad adhered to thick black mats and hanging from the wall. They’re in chronological order, he can tell, as Harry’s scrawled the months across the top of the black mats in white. What surprises him most is the colour.

It seems Harry’s gone back afterward and added an element of colour to each one. They’re soft and muted, probably watercolours if Louis had to guess, but the addition makes each image practically pop from the page. Louis can’t believe he’s essentially studying his progression of his second year of uni as he looks from one image to the next.

October brings Louis back to their first time meeting. He looks like he’s posing in this one, his body leaning back slightly on the edge of the fountain, clearly braced by his arms. It was the first and only time he’d felt the need to try to pose as Harry drew him, before he’d settled into just being himself as the drawings had progressed. Harry’s added in some gentle blues and greens around him, reminiscent of the water and trees serving as their backdrop that day.

November’s feels warm, and Louis recalls sitting across from Harry in their favourite cafe. Harry’s painted fire-like orange and yellow splotches around Louis, and Louis’ looking down at his tea in this one, his lips turned upward in a slight smile. He’ll have to ask Harry if he truly did smile at his tea that day. He guesses it’s not the biggest surprise, tea aficionado that he is.

He laughs when he gets to December. He’d been present for December’s drawing session in physical form only, his mind succumbed to his cold and to sleep. This portrait is a close-up, Louis’ head cradled horizontally by a pillow, his eyes closed. Where he came across as somewhat stiff in the first drawing, in this one he looks completely serene. Peaceful. It looks like Harry had finally had proper time to study him as he sketched this one. His chin is chiseled just so, and each little patch of scruff he’d had from not shaving that week almost appears individually drawn. He wonders how long Harry spent on this one, and if sleeping through it gave him all the time he could have possibly needed, free from distractions. It’s like he drew Louis from under a microscope. It’s out of this world.

He stares at December for a while before remembering there’s still a whole other row underneath. January’s makes him smile instantly, memories rushing back of Harry drawing him during the mock New Year’s Eve party at the club. He’s even included the bloody 2018 glasses Louis had worn, and Louis’ mouth is open wide as if he’s shouting something. He’s sure he was quite loud that night. Harry’s somehow managed to make a pencil sketch capture Louis’ happiness as they’d celebrated the New Year together. The vivid zigzags he’s painted around him, pinks and yellows and blues, only add to to the festive feel of it all.

A surprise jolt of tension hits him as he shifts his gaze to February’s drawing. February was when everything went wrong. Harry had managed to draw Louis before things were ruined, though. In this one, Louis’ sat on the couch, his head tipped back in laughter. Their time together in his flat before they’d left to celebrate Harry’s birthday had been fun. He frowns at the colours Harry’s chosen for this image, trying to make sense of what they could mean. The left side is a series of deep red watercolours, but the right side changes to an ominous grey. Looking to March, he notices the grey on its left side, and realises the two patches of grey connect February to March. It’s almost like a reference to the period of separation they’d endured.

Louis looks the most solemn in March out of all of the images by far. Harry’s drawn his cigarette in this one, and a swirl of smoke rising to the top of the page. His gaze is cast downward, his expression pensive. He doesn’t look _sad,_ necessarily, but it’s a striking contrast to the ones before. They hadn’t exactly ended Harry’s six month project on the happiest note.

What strikes him the most, though, is the colour that Harry’s chosen for the right side of the March image. The page is enveloped in an increasingly brightening yellow, the colour nearly running off the side of the page and onto the mat. Louis’ not sure, but he’d like to think Harry’s choice of yellow as the ending colour could symbolise something positive. In his mind, yellow signifies happiness, optimism, the sun even. Maybe Harry’s hopeful things in their future will be brighter. He is too.

He jumps when he feels a hand against the small of his back.

“What do you think?” Harry whispers, his lips against Louis’ ear.

Louis takes in the images as a set again. His lips feel frozen, incapable of movement, and he’s unable to formulate a proper thought as he stares at the wall. “I…” he says, the warmth of Harry’s hand moulding against him. “I’m literally speechless.”

Harry steps in front of him suddenly, his eyes etched with worry. “Speechless in a good way?”

“Yeah. Like, in the best way possible. Harry.” Louis brings his hand to Harry’s forearm, squeezing gently. “They’re beautiful.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s starting to smile, his shoulders relaxing softly as the tension held in his body dissipates.

“Absolutely. You just… that’s _me_ in those drawings. Really, truly, me. And the colours. I wasn’t expecting this. I’m completely blown away.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

Louis laughs. “Love them, more like. Harry, seriously. I just… I want you to tell me about all of them, one by one. How you chose the colours, what it all means. I want to know everything.”

Harry nods readily. “Can we go out after this? We could grab dinner or drinks? Whatever you want, really. We can talk about the drawings, but also I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh?” Louis feels his heartbeat pick up in his chest, a flutter of trepidation coursing through his veins. Harry’s speaking pleasantly enough, but Louis can’t help but think that talking sound ominous.

“Yeah, I…” Harry trails off. He’s spotted something behind Louis, and his mouth opens in apparent shock. He steps past Louis quickly, holding out his arms.

Harry embraces a woman with dark hair, pulling her in closely as they sway from side to side. She looks at Harry’s drawings as soon as they’ve let go, turning to Louis and smiling kindly before doing a double take.

“Wait,” she says, glancing back and forth between the drawings and Louis. _“You’re_ Louis!”

“Um. Yes?” Louis looks to Harry, but he’s just beaming at the woman. Not exactly helpful.

“I’m Anne, darling. Harry’s mum.”

 _Oh._ Louis finally puts two and two together. They actually do look quite alike, with matching smiles and similar eyes. She’s got an arm wrapped around Harry, but removes it to warmly shake Louis’ hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Louis says.

“You as well, dear.”

“Mum,” Harry says, “I can’t believe you’re here! Didn’t think you’d come all this way.”

“Nonsense,” Anne replies. She brings a hand to Harry’s face, squeezing his cheek in a way that makes Louis think of his own mum. “We wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart. Robin’s here too, just parking the car. Now then, let’s have a look, shall we?” She turns toward Harry’s exhibit, cocking her head to one side as she studies the drawings quietly.

Harry looks to Louis, the smile on his face fully showcasing his dimples. He’s brilliant when he’s happy. He’s brilliant all of the time, really, but it’s nice to see this side of him. Louis can’t help but smile back in earnest.

Anne turns to Harry, slipping an arm around his waist. “You’ve done a wonderful job, baby. I knew you would. And you,” she says, pointing at Louis, “you make a wonderful model. Future career path perhaps?”

“He’s an actor, mum,” Harry says, playfully rolling his eyes.  

Harry spots his stepfather entering the room and waves him over. He shakes Louis’ hand, then begins another round of complimenting Harry on a job well done.

Louis eventually ducks toward Harry and whispers in his ear. “Think I might walk around a bit, see the other displays.”

“Okay. You’re not leaving though, right?”

Louis shakes his head. “I’ll come back.”

He leaves Harry chatting with his parents to make his way around the room, glancing at the other portraits along the walls as he goes. The artists all clearly have talent, but none of what he sees is quite as incredible as Harry’s work. Not that he’s biased. It’s just that nothing really catches his eye enough to make him want to stop and study, so he mostly just thinks as he walks the room.

He’s still wondering what Harry wants to talk to him about, and can’t help but run through all of the possible scenarios in his head. Maybe he needs Louis’ help on another project, or wants to let Louis know he’s ready to pick their friendship back up where they’d left off. There’s a pessimistic lobe in Louis’ brain telling him that Harry’s probably back together with Jonny, or even moving home, and that’s what he wants to break to him over dinner. Clearly he’s over-thinking, but it’s nearly impossible to stop.

He circles his way back to Harry eventually. Harry’s parents aren’t with him anymore, but Harry is busy talking to a man who looks to be a professor. He’s holding a clipboard and writing something down as Harry points out one of his drawings. Harry’s eyes meet Louis’, a brief smile crossing his lips before he schools his expression back to one of neutral professionalism.

Louis returns his smile and waits quietly, bouncing on his heels while Harry talks to the professor. He’s just within earshot.

“... partially I think it helped that I just became more familiar with my subject. But I definitely felt more confident by the end, yeah. Don’t think I was redoing as much, or taking as much time.”

His professor eventually shakes his hand, reviews his clipboard, and moves to the next student. Harry lets out an audible breath, his lips fluttering together as he looks to Louis. He’s clearly relieved.

“All good?” Louis asks.

“Yeah. My professor seemed to like them, I think.”

“He’d be dumb not to. Did your parents leave?”

Harry shakes his head. “They’re around here somewhere. Actually, uh, they want to take us out to dinner. I hope that’s okay.”

Louis’ generally good with parents. He’d charmed the pants off of Nick’s mum the one time they’d met. For some reason though, the thought of spending more time with Harry’s family makes a nervous ache settle in his stomach. He hopes it’s not ridiculously obvious to them that he’s been pining over their son. That is, if they haven’t already caught wind of it. He wonders suddenly if Harry’s the type to tell his mum every little thing. He’s glad he’d never gushed more about Harry to his own mum. She’s asked him about the artist boy since winter holiday but he’s been able to move the topic of conversation right along. There’s a chance Anne and Robin already know the whole story, which might be an even more embarrassing possibility then having them figure it out over the course of a meal. Louis’ unsure of what he may be getting himself into.   

He realises Harry’s eyeing him curiously, waiting for his reply. “Yeah,” he says eventually, “of course.”

“Sorry. I told my mum we already had plans but they came all this way and-”

“Harry. I’m completely fine with going to dinner with your parents. They seem great.” He’s being partially honest. They do seem like lovely people. He suddenly wonders if _he’s_ the one overstepping by tagging along. “Unless you’d rather go with them alone?”

“No,” Harry says quickly, his voice determined. “I want you to come.”

“Okay then. It’s settled.”

They turn in sync to face the room, scanning the crowd. Louis spots Anne in a corner, talking with another student who’s clearly explaining her work.

“Did you get a chance to look around?” he asks Harry.

“Yeah, before the exhibit opened.” A beat passes before he speaks again. “I still want to talk to you about something.”

Louis nods. “Can we talk now?” The unknown is killing him.

Harry shakes his head. “Not now. Once my parents leave, okay?” As if on cue, Anne and Robin start making their way over, waving in Harry’s direction. Like it or not, whatever Harry’s got to say will have to wait.

He nudges against Louis gently, bringing his lips to Louis’ ear. “It’s nothing bad,” he says. “Just so you know.”

Louis smiles, shaking his head. It’s a positive hint, he supposes, but leave it to Harry to keep him in dramatic suspense. “You’re such a little shit sometimes,” he whispers back, just in time to elicit a barking laugh from Harry as Anne and Robin approach. They eye them both curiously.

Harry’s drawings will stay hung on the wall for a few more days, but the exhibit hours are over for now. Louis takes one last glance at the portraits, sighing happily, before he makes his way to the door with Harry and his family.

He’s hoping Harry’s definition of “nothing bad” is not too different from his own.

\--

“Oh! Darling! One last thing.”

Anne is having a bit of a hard time saying goodbye to Harry. Louis totally gets it.

Harry hits Louis with an exasperated smile, before turning back toward the car again. “Yes, mum?”

“Susan made your favourite muffins for me to give to you. I almost forgot! They’re in the boot.” She runs to the back of the car, returning quickly with a container. “She said to let her know the next time you’re in town.”

Harry’s expression has suddenly changed. “She did?” he says eventually, his voice doubtful.

“Of course she did, dear. She loves you like her own, you know.” Anne pinches his cheeks. They’re going to stay red for a while once she’s done with him. “Always will, no matter what.” She looks to Louis, smiling softly. It looks like tears are forming at the corner of her eyes. “Okay, then,” she says finally. “We’re leaving now, promise. I just need one last hug.”

Watching Harry and his mum grip each other tightly tugs mercilessly at Louis’ heart. He’s suddenly desperately missing his own mum. He should give her a ring tomorrow. Maybe he can even Skype with the rest of the girls and Ernest. It’s been too long.

Anne’s wiping at her eyes by the time she lets go, hurrying toward the car. “Stay safe, darling. We love you! Wonderful to meet you, Louis!”

“Same to you!” Louis says, before returning Robin’s wave from the driver’s seat. They merge into traffic and take off down the crowded street. Louis stands quietly at Harry’s side as he watches them go.

He turns to Louis once the car is out of sight. “Will you come in?” he says softly.

Louis nods. “Yeah.”

Harry leads Louis across the winding footpath toward his halls of residence. Louis has met him outside before, but he’s never seen Harry’s place on the inside.

One of Harry’s flatmates is in the common space when Harry opens the front door. He introduces Louis quickly before they make their way down the hall. Harry stops outside the second door on the left and unlocks it, turning the handle. Suddenly, Louis is catching his first glimpse of Harry’s space.

It’s a small room, of course. Louis remembers his first year living in the halls. There’s a small single bed shoved in the corner, neatly made with a white duvet. Harry’s desk is covered with art materials -  pencils, paints, and more, all organised into cups. He has a circular multicoloured rug on the floor, and a small plant in his windowsill. The plant is no Fernie, but it does make his space feel pretty homey. He’s not a bad decorator.

Harry bypasses the switch for the overhead light, instead clicking on a small lamp at his bedside table. It illuminates the space in a soft yellow. He sets the container from Anne on his desk before sitting on his bed. “Do you wanna…?” He pats the space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” Louis only has to take two steps to cross the room. He sits on the edge of Harry’s bed, careful not to ruffle his duvet. “Your room is nice.”

“Thanks.”

Harry’s walls are littered with drawings, landscapes mostly. There are pretty paintings of flowers and trees, likely done by Harry himself. Louis stares at them while he waits for Harry to say something. Anything. Their dinner with Anne and Robin was perfectly pleasant, but he’s dying to know what Harry wanted to talk to him about. He’s currently weighing whether he should continue giving him time or shake his shoulders and shout _“Out with it, already!”_ Option one is only narrowly winning out.

“Uh, would you like a muffin?” Harry asks.

“Okay.” Truth is, Louis’ beyond stuffed from their pasta dinner, but maybe muffins will get Harry talking.

Harry opens the container and grabs two, offering one to Louis. “Best blueberry muffin you’ll ever have,” he says, smiling gently.

“Better than the cafe?” Louis says incredulously. Harry only nods his head.

Louis breaks off a small piece to take a bite. It’s not overly sweet, he notices right away, then he practically moans once it starts to melt on his tongue. Harry wasn’t kidding. “These _are_ amazing,” he says, taking a large bite straight off the top. It tastes like they’re coated in butter. Perfection. “Who made them?”

Harry swallows before answering. “Uh, Susan? She’s… Jonny’s mum.”

“Oh.” He stops chewing the piece he’s got going in his mouth. Ex-boyfriend muffins. He has no choice but to swallow it. It’s not like he can spit it out.

“Yeah.” Harry picks a blueberry out of his muffin, running it along his fingers. He’s going to stain them blue if he’s not careful. “Did you hear what my mum said? About Jonny’s mum, I mean.”

“Um, which part?”

“That she still wants to see me?”

Louis nods.

“I’d just… I thought that maybe I really ruined things.” He sighs, setting his muffin on his desk.

“What do you mean?” Louis can’t resist taking another bite of his muffin, its ties to Harry’s ex-boyfriend be damned. It’s too good to boycott.

“Well. Jonny’s parents have been friends with my parents for ages. Best friends, basically. And Susan is like my second mum. So when I broke things off with him, I thought maybe I’d messed all that up, and then I just left to come back here while everyone else was dealing with it at home. It made me feel like an arse.”

“Can’t stay with someone just to try to make people happy,” Louis says. He’s pretty sure he’s told Harry that once before.

“I know. But, um, I actually think everything’s going to be okay. I talked to Jonny the other day.”

“Yeah?” Jonny’s name isn’t giving Louis the same sense of dread anymore. He’s still not sure what Harry’s been wanting to talk to him about, but he’s the one sitting in Harry’s room, eating the best muffin he’s ever had. Not Jonny.

Harry nods. “He’s doing well, I think. And my parents and his parents are still friends, and, well…” He picks his muffin back up. “Guess his mum doesn’t hate me after all.”

“It would be hard to hate you,” Louis says. He nudges a shoulder against Harry playfully. He’s finished his muffin and is seriously considering going for another when Harry clears his throat.

“So you don’t hate me either, then?” The question comes out in a rush, Harry speaking quietly at Louis’ side.

 _What?_ Louis looks up, surprised, only to find Harry staring at his hands in his lap. Louis had been upset before, sure, but he can’t imagine when he ever gave Harry the impression that he _hated_ him.

“Harry,” he says, waiting until Harry meets his eyes. “I could never hate you. Honestly.”

Harry frowns. “But, what I did to you. On my birthday. I was the one who asked you to kiss me and then I completely lost it and basically blamed you. It was awful of me.”

“It wasn’t the best night I’ve ever had,” Louis admits. “You’ve already apologised, though. And I do forgive you. I still want us to be friends.”

Harry’s sigh takes Louis by surprise. It’s not the reaction he’d hoped for when bringing up the topic of friendship with Harry. “Harry, do you not want to be friends?” he asks, steeling himself for whatever response may come his way.

Harry picks at his nails for a moment, the rest of his body still. He’s so silent that Louis can almost make out the voices coming from the telly in the common room. It’s audible when Harry takes a sharp breath of air before speaking again.

“I felt so guilty, you know.” Louis _doesn’t_ know, but lets him continue. “I was with Jonny. Not _with_ with him though, which was part of the problem, maybe, the distance. I don’t know. But we would talk on the phone and fight and then I’d spend time with you. And I started to realise that maybe I felt something for you but it’s not like I would have ever acted on it. Even when things were shit with Jonny, he’s always been my best friend, right?”

Louis’ heartbeat picks up as he tries to make sense of what Harry is telling him. _Maybe I felt something for you,_ actual words that left Harry’s lips, are on a spin cycle in his brain.

“I think we needed to break up regardless, though,” Harry continues. “We’re truly just better as friends. But after I did it, I promised myself I was going to take some time to sort things out in my head. And then less than a week later I’m shoving my tongue down your throat.”

Louis smiles at that, glancing up to meet Harry’s eyes. He hadn’t minded the tongue-shoving.

“I literally don’t think you’ve ever gone this long without talking,” Harry says, his face etched in worry. “Please say something.”

Louis is a second away from letting his feelings for Harry fully reignite, from spilling the beans about how he’s felt for months, but he’s going to try not to make a complete fool of himself again. He words his response carefully.

“I guess I’m waiting to hear if you were able to sort things out. Since the night at the pub.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. I have.”

“And?”

They exchange nervous laughter.

“You’re really going to make me spell it out, aren’t you?” Harry asks, his cheeks flushed, groaning when Louis nods. “Alright. Okay.” He turns to face Louis on the bed, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knees. Louis follows suit.

“I…” Harry starts, inhaling deeply. “I like you, Louis. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I’m sorry about what happened on my birthday and that it took me ages to figure all this out. And I’m terrified because I’m pretty sure you felt the same at some point but it would be completely understandable if you didn’t anymore and… yeah. I guess that’s what I’ve been needing to say.”

Louis feels like there’s a giant sunbeam radiating through his chest, threatening to split him in two in the best way possible. Its glow is somehow even brighter than the yellow Harry had forecasted on the outer border of his art display. Louis had hoped at best that Harry would still want to be friends, but somehow Harry wants more than that. He wants what Louis wants and for once the world is finally aligning the way it’s supposed to. He takes a second to breathe it all in.

A second too long, apparently, as Harry nudges impatiently at his knee. “Say something,” he says. “Please.”

Louis smiles. “That was quite poetic.”

“Louuuis,” Harry whines, his knees bouncing against the mattress.

“No pouting now,” Louis says, stilling Harry’s knees with his palms. Harry quiets immediately, meeting Louis’ eyes with an intense stare. Louis feels his smile overtaking his face. It’s so wide he can hardly get the words out. “I like you too, you know.”

It’s been awhile since Louis has caught a true glimpse of the trademark Harry Styles megawatt smile, but what he sees in front of him now blows any previous smiles they’ve shared completely out of the water. Harry’s smile is so bright, so dazzling, it’s like it threatens to break his face in two. He’s absolutely glowing, and it’s all because he likes Louis, and Louis likes him back.

Harry responds with a giggle, a ridiculous sound that bubbles up from his chest and leaves Louis helpless but to do the same. They shake with laughter together, rustling the small bed underneath them until Louis squeezes his hands against Harry’s knees. Louis swears his palms are tingling from touching Harry, and if the abrupt end to Harry’s laughter is any indication, the feeling of Louis’ hands on him is getting to him too.

“So…” Louis says. “Where do we go from here?”

Harry seems to ponder the question seriously before answering. “I, ah, I think we kiss now. And I promise I won’t freak out this time.”

“You promise now, do you?” Louis asks, teasing. Harry blushes, as he always does when Louis teases him, but his smile never fades. “Is that something one can truly promise?” he continues, his tone light.

“Shut up and kiss me, Louis.” Harry says, leaning forward.

“You’re such a cliché.” Louis finishes the words against Harry’s lips, and then they’re kissing.

This kiss feels like the most comfortable, natural thing in the world. Their first kiss had come with an edge of desperation, a sense of _I don’t know if this is okay, but I’m doing it anyway, whatever the consequence._ And to say there had been a consequence involved would be an understatement. But this kiss is different. It’s like this one is saying _Hey, take your time, enjoy it. Plenty more where this came from._

They kiss like that for a while, cross-legged on Harry’s tiny bed, leaning forward to make contact. Louis runs his finger up Harry’s side, Harry laughing against his mouth as he jerks slightly. “I’m ticklish,” he says softly.

“Mmm,” Louis responds.

They pull away eventually. Harry’s lips are kiss-bitten and red, his cheeks flushed. His smile is softer now. When he smiles this way it almost feels like a secret, shared only between the two of them. They’ve just snogged and Harry’s current smile is a direct result of that. Louis won’t soon forget this moment.

It catches him by surprise when Harry’s mouth gapes wide open in a loud, noisy yawn. “Sorry,” he says, bringing a hand to his mouth.

“‘s okay. What time is it anyway?” Louis has to shift to uncomfortably retrieve his mobile from his back pocket. “It’s past midnight,” he says, surprised. “Tonight went by fast.”

“Yeah.” Harry grabs Louis’ hand, turning it over in his palm to rub his fingertips against it, the movement slow and light. A second yawn forms at his lips, and he tries to mask it, his mouth inching open only slightly. He’s clearly exhausted.

“I should probably get going, let you get to bed,” Louis suggests. It’s the _last_ thing he wants to do, actually, but Harry’s tired, so -

“Wait,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “Maybe you can stay? I mean, to sleep. I just… I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. Maybe in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, Harry nodding immediately. “Okay,” he agrees, smiling. He doesn’t need much convincing to spend more time with Harry.

Harry shows him to the loo, and Louis shows him how he cleans his teeth with his finger when he doesn’t have a toothbrush at his disposal. They’re back in Harry’s bedroom in no time, collapsing onto his bed in a fit of giggles.

“My bed’s smaller than yours,” Harry says as they begin shifting around. “Sorry.”

Louis shrugs, running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I don’t mind a cuddle.”

The way they settle into the space feels natural, Harry’s back pressed up firmly against Louis’ chest, Louis running his fingers against Harry’s sternum with his free arm. He brings his lips to Harry’s neck and kisses him softly. “Goodnight, Harry,” he whispers.

Harry’s asleep within seconds, and Louis’ sure he won’t be far behind. He’s struggled the past month with sleeping fitfully, his mind tossing and turning alongside his body. But now, he’s in Harry’s bed. Harry, who likes him back and invited him to stay. The stress that’s been occupying his brain is dissipating, and he can feel himself drifting as he’s finally allowed a peaceful night’s slumber.  

\--

Louis’ sheets feel softer than he’s used to, the pillow more comfortable than he remembers. He opens his eyes curiously, turning onto his side.

Harry’s standing at his desk, and smiles immediately when Louis’ eyes make contact with his own. He’s got only his pants on and the half eaten muffin in his hands is making a crumbly mess on the floor. “Good morning,” he says, muffled through the piece in his mouth. He makes his way toward Louis, arms outstretched, muffin and all.

Louis smiles. He’s only seconds in, but he’s already declaring this his best morning ever.

\--

**SEPTEMBER**

Harry is truly one of the luckiest people on the planet. He’s starting his second year of uni after an incredible summer holiday. He’s moving into a flat in an amazing part of London with a few fellow art students. And he has a ridiculously cute boyfriend who is absolutely determined to get his new mattress up three flights of stairs all on his own.

“Shit! Fuck! Shit!” Louis huffs, grunting as he goes. He’s pushed the mattress up in spurts, one steep step at a time. Harry thinks the plastic covering wrapped protectively around its surface may tear open in protest at any moment.

“Louis, I can -”

“Don’t you dare.” Louis says, his voice strained. He lets out a harsh breath as he pushes it again. He’s nothing if not determined.

Harry wants to roll his eyes, but in addition to being cute, the sweat accumulating on Louis’ brow is kind of sexy. Plus, Harry knows he’s just looking out for him. It’s sweet at its core.

It had taken Harry all of five seconds on Louis’ longboard to topple straight onto asphalt. Reflexes are nice and all, until catching yourself with your good arm lands you in a cast for six weeks. He’s carried a few items up using his left hand, but Louis’ insisting Harry shouldn’t use his right arm for a thing. _“Your arm is your livelihood!”_ he keeps proclaiming, ever the drama student. Harry’s pretty sure shoving a mattress up a flight of stairs while in a cast won’t ruin his future art ambitions.

“Louis!” Liam says, running up the flight of stairs to meet them. “I said I would help you as soon as I got off the phone!”

“He’s being stubborn,” Harry replies. “As always.”

“You’ve got that right.” Liam gives it an extra shove and suddenly they’re pushing the mattress through the door of his flat.

“I had it,” Louis says. “Essentially.” They slide it along the hardwood floor before stopping outside the door of Harry’s bedroom. “Would’ve made more sense to move in your bed _before_ all of your other boxes.”

Harry hustles past them to begin pushing boxes out of the way with his feet. Surely Louis can’t stop him from helping with the lower half of his body.

The mattress makes its way through the door before toppling over with a satisfying _humph. “Finally,”_ Louis moans as he plops down and starfishes across it, plastic covering and all.

“Gonna see if we missed anything,” Liam announces before leaving the room.

Harry studies the sketches he’s hung on his wall so far, adjusting one slightly in an effort to make it level. Louis whines from the mattress.

“Babe,” Louis says, “come ‘ere for a second.”

Harry complies quickly, flopping down on the mattress and giggling as Louis grunts. “Tired?” he asks him.

“Nah.” He turns on his stomach, flopping an arm over Harry. “I love that your room is in boxes but your walls are fully decorated.”

“It was a one-hand job,” Harry says. “Something I could do.”

Louis lifts his head, a smirk on his face. “Did I just hear you mention a handjob? Don’t think you’ve ever given me one with just your left hand. Could be hot…”

Harry snorts, jostling Louis playfully against the mattress. “No! Not right now, at least. Liam’ll be back any second.”

“Fair enough.” Louis rests his head in his palms, swinging his legs. His face grows serious as he watches Harry position his arm against his chest. “Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.

“Not since the day it happened, Lou. I promise.” It’s been a week, but he knows Louis is still blaming himself for the whole accident. It was Harry’s fault completely - he’s always been clumsy, and giving longboarding a go with minimal instruction was not his smartest decision. But Louis had felt _terrible_ about it then and is still coddling him now. Louis’ always good at taking care of him, but he’s taken it even further since the accident. Harry can’t say he really minds.

Harry rubs his cast against his chest. “Just itches sometimes,” he concedes.

Louis’ brow furrows. “I could stick a pencil in there and scratch at it, right?” He looks like he’s moments away from rummaging through Harry’s boxes for the perfect scratching tool.

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t think you’re _actually_ supposed to stick a pencil in a cast, Lou. Thanks, though.”

“Of course.” Louis does a reluctant press up to his knees from the mattress. “Should probably see what’s taking Liam so long, then.” He gingerly touches Harry’s cast, tracing over the spot where he’d scrawled his name in permanent marker. It’s surrounded by a giant blue heart. He brings his lips to the spot, kissing it gently. “Promise me you won’t do any heavy lifting while I’m gone?” he says.

“Promise,” Harry repeats. He purses his lips until Louis meets him for a kiss.

“Love you,” Louis says, making his way to Harry’s bedroom door. “Love your flat.”

“Love you too.”

Louis smiles softly and then he’s in the hallway, shouting Liam’s name.

Harry giggles to himself. Louis’ been a contradiction since the day he and Harry first met. With his mates, he’s loud, brash even, always shouting and taunting and goading them on. Nick told Harry once that Louis is always the life of the party, the centre of attention. The belle of the ball had been Nick’s exact words, he was pretty sure. And Louis is definitely all of those things.

But then Harry gets him alone, and it’s like the whirring energy inside of him settles. Suddenly Louis’ quiet, reverent even. It’s fun going out as a couple, but some of their best moments have been the nights sharing secrets in hushed voices, safe behind a closed door and under a warm duvet, away from the rest of the world. Life with Louis is fun and action-packed but also special and sacred. He’s not sure how the boy who joked about being his nude male model that first sunny day they’d met has come to provide both a yin and a yang to Harry’s life. But he absolutely has.

Harry’s pretty sure he had feelings for Louis from day one, now that he’s able to look back on things with objectivity. It had taken him time to figure it all out, sure, but Harry thinks things between them probably played out the way they were meant to. He was meant to have time apart from Louis in order to truly grasp the hole that would be left in his heart by not having him around.

It helps that Jonny’s moved on too. Harry knows now that he never truly had a reason to feel guilty about what transpired between them, but he hated the thought that he was the one to ruin their friendship. He’s not sure they’ll ever make it to Louis and Nick’s stage of post relationship amiability, to be the kind of exes that can joke about their arguments and downfalls, but the fact that they were able to meet during the summer holiday and have a comfortable conversation over tea was a nice start.

He stretches his arms overhead as he studies the sketches he’s hung on the wall so far. He’s got some of his favourite landscape portraits up there, a field of sunflowers, a grassy hill from back home. As usual, he pauses on the portraits of Louis. His Louis. He’s both the sun and the moon, interchangeably a crash of forceful waves and a gentle pattering of raindrops. A beautiful enigma.

His last two sketches from the first year art exhibition are still on display in the art building, but the first four serve as a happy walk down memory lane. A more recent sketch of Louis is hung beside the old ones. He’s stubbly in that one, his eyes glistening. They’d been drunk and sitting on a curb waiting for a car and for whatever reason, Harry’d had his sketchpad on hand. Louis’ hands were in Harry’s hair the entire time he’d worked on that sketch. He’s surprised it even turned out.

Louis had started drunkenly pouting as Harry had drawn him that night. Harry’s drawing focus will be on landscapes in his course this year, and Harry had laughed off Louis’ offer to paint his face green and act like a tree. Louis had whispered out the truth eventually, confessed his disappointment that Harry wouldn’t be focusing on drawing him anymore. Apparently Louis had forgotten that Harry no longer needs an excuse to put him on paper.

Painting Louis in the nude has become a running joke between them, but somehow it hasn’t managed to happen. Yet. Harry would definitely be up for it someday.

Harry studies his walls, a mass of blank white space bordering his bedroom. Louis is making it sound like Harry’s walls are fully, properly decorated, but Harry knows there’s work to be done. He won’t have proper use of his good arm for the next month at least, but he’ll get some new drawings up there eventually. Loads will be of Louis, he knows. Landscapes may have been his preference when he started university, but now they’re tied with portraits of one specific person.

He shifts curiously as he hears huffing coming from the hallway. He doesn’t remember having anything else heavy to haul up.

He catches sight of a clay pot and green leaves, Louis’ flexed, tattooed arms barely in view. “What’s this?” Harry asks, rushing over from the mattress.

Louis sets it slowly on the ground before standing triumphantly, his hands on his hips. “It’s your very own personal Fernie. Except you’ll need to come up with your own name, since Fernie’s obviously already taken.”

“Louis, really?! I love it.” Harry kneels down, running his fingers over the leaves. She has the same waxy texture as Fernie’s, and seems like she’s just waiting to reach similar gigantic proportions. “It looks just like yours.”

“Yup. Took her picture to the flower shop to make sure I was getting the right one. Now then, a few tips. You have to be careful to water her just the right amount. A couple of times a week will do it. And she needs a bit of sunlight each day, extra after gloomy periods.”

Harry smiles as Louis rattles off his plant caretaking knowledge. He’d had a good laugh about his budding horticulturist boyfriend over the summer when he’d met Jay, her surprise over Louis’ dedication to keeping his plant alive evident as Louis had prattled on about all things Fernie. Louis had protested when Jay recounted the story of the fish he’d accidentally killed as a child, the result of dumping an entire container of fish food into its bowl. Apparently the story’s still a bit of a sore spot for him.

Louis actually does seem to be an expert on ficuses, though. Fernie’s one of the largest indoor plants Harry’s ever seen, dwarfing them both in height at this point. He’ll give Louis due credit on this one.

“Hey. Are you even listening?” Louis says, poking his arm.

“Mm-hmm. Water. Sunlight.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I give good advice, you know. If you’d listen.” He sits cross-legged on the floor, joining Harry in running his fingers softly along the plant’s base.

“I seem to remember trying to follow some of your advice last year,” Harry says, teasing. “Something along the lines of finding myself in my first year, not taking things too seriously. That didn’t go so well for a while.”

Louis shrugs. “I’d say you found yourself.”

“Maybe. And remind me what second year’s supposed to be all about again, oh wise one? Revising only?”

Louis plants a gentle peck on Harry’s lips. “How about... revising sometimes. And making sure a lot of those revising sessions occur with your boyfriend. Preferably in a bed.”

“Sounds practical,” Harry smirks. He loves it when they banter. “And how about third year, then? Have you figured out what third years are supposed to do, since you’re about to become one?”

“Hmm,” Louis murmurs. He’s running his nose against Harry’s neck, sending shivers up his spine. Harry’s not sure he’ll ever get over the sensation of Louis’ touch. “I think third year is all about… savouring the moment. Being with the ones you love.” His lips caress Harry’s earlobe, making gentle contact. He exhales softly, his breath warm against Harry’s skin. “What do you say?”

Harry smiles as their eyes meet, pressing his good hand firmly along the inside of Louis’ thigh. “I’d say that sounds like a plan.”

\--

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading :)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://elsi-bee.tumblr.com/post/165244747155/coming-soon-to-the-1dreversebang-like-one-of?is_related_post=1)


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